Family Ties
by Wanda517
Summary: Ranger ignores his "always have back-up" rule and goes on a personal mission to rescue his cousin. He fails to report in, and Steph has been tasked to find him and bring him back to Trenton. . Babe HEA. Joe is unharmed. Any characters you recognize belong to Janet Evanovich. All others are mine. Locations mentioned exist, but have been fictionalized. I make no money on this.
1. Chapter 1 -June 1980–Mariel Harbor, Cuba

Author's note: Special thanks to Atlanta Babe who reviewed and made some valuable suggestions and Jago Ji who, is a kick-ass Beta. This story fermented for a long time before it was ready to release.

**Chapter 1 **

**June 1980 – Mariel Harbor, Cuba**

It was another long day, bobbing in the sailboat anchored in this dreary harbor, waiting for something to happen. This morning, like most of the nine days we've been anchored here, my cousin and I dove off the bow of the 42' sloop, and raced around the improvised course we'd made up just before diving. Twice around the blue sailboat, once around the old Trawler, swimming tight under the anchor lines, then around the marker buoy at the harbor entrance and back. Maybe two miles total distance. It was our exercise and main way to fend off boredom. My cousin was 22, and just out of the US Army. To say he was in much better shape than I was, well, what would you expect? He'd win every time, but I was getting closer each day. Some days he'd challenge me to sit-ups or push-ups. Basically anything to burn off some energy. I'm 16, and sitting with nothing to do isn't something I'm good at. Neither is my grandfather.

My grandfather was born and grew up less than 30 miles from here, and I knew he was aching to get off this boat and go visit his hometown. "Town" – when he left over 40 years ago, the roads were dirt and although it was less than 50 miles from the bustle of Havana, it was mainly a small farming community which he couldn't wait to leave. Best we knew it was still a small farming community, with none of his relatives still there. They had either died or moved to Havana. But the roads were now paved!

As soon as he finished his schooling at 17 he joined many other Cubans who were sure they could find their fortunes in the United States. What Abuelo Ernesto Sanchez found was hard work building the Tamiami Trail through the thick of the everglades, and a lovely wife, Talise, the older daughter of one of the Trail Indians who made up the bulk of the construction crew. Within a year, my mother was born, whom my grandfather insisted on naming Maria Theresa after his own mother. Two years later, Ernesto was a widower, Talise dying in childbirth. He stayed on in the Village with Talise's family who helped him raise Maria, until he met and married Arcelia Reyes, the sister of a friend who had come with him from Cuba. They moved to Homestead and added to their family, but Ernesto made sure Maria knew and spent time with her mother's family.

Some days we tried to fish, to supplement the meager supplies we brought for the trip. We weren't too thrilled about eating the fish pulled from Mariel Bay. The Bay was dominated by the dirty military compound and dilapidated industrial docks, and now hundreds of small to medium size private boats were anchored all over, dumping garbage overboard. Who knew what kinds of poisons might be ingested by the fish? We had been warned to bring enough food and supplies to last for two weeks, since there was no guarantee how prolonged the processing might be. We were here to get Ernesto's nephew's family. Castro had announced that he would allow some Cubans to leave, if their relatives came to Mariel by boat to get them. We were there to get my grandfather's sister's son and his two children, one a girl two years younger than me. So far we'd been waiting for nine days for word to pick them up at Pier C. None of us were allowed to leave the confines of the bay, so no side trips to Las Terrazas, or anywhere else. No sight-seeing or even jogging along the perimeter roads.

It had sounded like a grand adventure when he first asked me to come along. Almost anything new sounds like a grand adventure to a 16-year old boy, fresh out of a New Jersey Juvenile Detention center for car theft. Which is why I was in Florida to begin with. After I was released from my year in Juvie, life at home was miserable, for me and everyone else. My parents decided I needed some good old-fashioned Cuban discipline, so they sent me to live with my father's parents, Raul and Rosa Mañoso, and far away from my neighborhood gang. Luckily, Abuelo Ernesto convinced Abuelo Raul to let me spend time with him and Abuela Arcelia. This meant I also spent time with Abuela Talise's family in the Miccosukee Village. William, whose grandmother was Abuela Talise's sister, decided that I needed a friend, so took me under his wing despite the age difference. We spent a lot of time sailing with Abuelo Ernesto, hanging out at the beaches in Miami, and exploring the everglades. Abuelo Raul thought highly of William. And thinking that he was a good influence on me, encouraged our time together.

This day was ending differently from the others. Tonight, after dark, a Cuban military skiff pulled up behind us, and told us to be a Pier C at 6:00 a.m. tomorrow to get our passengers.

As we helped them aboard in the early morning darkness, I realized that my cousins did not appear to be in good health. Conchita was 14, but could pass for much older, and was sick. Her father and brother both appeared to be very weak. William helped Conchita get settled on one of seats by the transom, the others opting to go into the cabin. Before we could get organized to cast off, the soldiers forced about 50 more people onto our boat. We could comfortably and safely carry 12 to 16 passengers, but now we were closer to 60, dangerously overloaded. Not only were we returning to Florida with Conchita, her brother and father, but the dozens of others Castro wanted to get out of Cuba. Rumors were that Castro was emptying his jails and mental hospitals onto these boats, filling them beyond safe capacity. Most of these other folks looked suspicious to me, but then I was a gang member at 14, so everyone looked suspicious to me.

At the last minute one more passenger was shoved on board; Conchita saw him and started trembling and crying. William held her and tried to comfort her. Apparently this person upset her terribly; she stretched over the transom and started heaving. And stayed that way for much of the 13-hour trip back to Key West, where all "Merilitos" were taken to be processed.

By now it was mid-afternoon. What had started as a typical Caribbean spring day with transparent blue skies and light winds was building into a potential squall. Winds had picked up and clouds were building northwest of us. We would be sailing at night into the storm, crossing the Florida Straits with their strong currents flowing into the Gulf Stream, arriving in Key West around midnight, if we stayed on course. The crowding meant passengers were sitting wherever they could find a space. It made tending the sails a bit difficult, moving around and over people. Most had never been on a sailboat, and more than a few got sea-sick. Using buckets to scoop water to wash down the decks had been assigned to some of the teenaged passengers, so that Ernesto, William and I could concentrate on keeping on course. The hardest part was trimming the sails to keep the boat from heeling too severely in the building winds, which upset the passengers sitting along the rails, especially when the waves splashed up high enough to drench them.

During my turn at the helm, I had an opportunity to study the passengers. I was particularly interested in the differences. One fact that got me in trouble in Newark, NJ, where I was raised, was that I looked different from most of the Cuban-Americans in the neighborhood. My skin was darker and I wore my thick black hair long, when the other boys my age had the lighter Castilian-Spanish complexions and short hair that was the norm then. I was bullied and at an early age had to learn to fight to defend myself. My skin color was the same as my mother's, who was half-Native American, and my hair was long because it was a Native tradition that she insisted on keeping. I looked more like Celia, my older sister, than my other sisters did. Celia and I shared darker complexions and the delicate, symmetrical features that often earned me taunts of being a "girl," reason enough to fight. I observed that a large percentage of the passengers were of mixed race – including my cousin Conchita and her brother. Abuelo Ernesto told me that the "modern" Cuban society didn't segregate as they had when he was young and when the Castilian-Cubans only married among themselves. Now the younger generations are more "mulatto." The time I've spent with William and my Miccosukee family has made me reassess my heritage, and to be proud of it. I've learned that being different isn't bad, it makes you uniquely you, and I'm learning to appreciate that.

As darkness fell so did the winds and a light rain, which was welcomed although slightly chilly. William had retrieved a rain poncho, blanket and some crackers from the cabin for Conchita, and the cooling rain seemed to help her feel better. I admired William and marveled at his generous and protective instincts. I didn't yet realize that I, too, was a beneficiary of those instincts. Sitting between us, Conchita told us the story of the person who had upset her so.

His name was Alvar Montoya, and he was a little older than William. He was a small time crook and drug dealer in Havana, where she was raised. He hung around the schoolyards selling drugs and recruiting "helpers." He had a car, a rarity among most Cubans, an old rebuilt Chevy. A couple of months ago he invited her to go for a ride. Being young and naïve, she got in the car and went with him. Before he returned her to the schoolyard, he raped her. Now she's afraid she's pregnant.

I looked up to see Montoya smirking at Conchita. I formed an instant and intense dislike for the man. I had no way of knowing that I would hear his name and see him again in later years.


	2. Chapter 2 - 16 years later - Trenton, NJ

This is my first chapter story. Sincere thanks to all who reviewed, and to those who added it to favorites. Thanks also to the reviewer who pointed out that I misspelled "Marielitos".

* * *

16 years later - Trenton, NJ

If Stephanie Plum had known what the day had in store for her, she would have taken more time to say goodbye to her much despised 70s brown tile bathroom. She would have taken time to talk with Rex, given him an extra special breakfast, and scratched his furry ears before telling him goodbye. She probably would not have bothered to bid goodbye to the almost always bare kitchen, which usually managed to produce at least a pot of strong coffee each morning or the living room, which had as many nightmarish memories as good ones.

She would have bid a fond farewell to her not totally comfortable bed, the one she had purchased when she first moved into the apartment, the one which she had shared many times with Joe over the almost three years they battled back and forth in a relationship that finally went sour. And occasionally with Ranger when they both needed sleep, with the exception of the one glorious, too short night they had consummated the volcanic attraction that had plagued them since they first met over three years ago. Ranger, known to his family as Ricardo Carlos Mañoso, was a former Army Ranger, owner of Rangeman Security LLC, her current employer, mentor and her best friend.

Since she had no way of knowing the portents of the day, she rushed through her relatively new normal morning routine, slipping into her Rangeman uniform: black cargoes, black Rangeman T-shirt, cushioned socks and black boots. Long curly hair brushed back into a careless ponytail, a slap of mascara, minimal jewelry – simple gold stud earrings, a couple of favorite rings. And her fancy Seiko watch, a gift from Ranger when she finally signed the contract to work full-time for Rangeman. That was 10 months ago, after it seemed obvious that Vinnie wasn't going to get the Bonds Office back to full speed in time to help keep her out of bankruptcy. She filled Rex's dish with hamster kibble, a baby carrot and a grape, gave him clean water, and told him goodbye as he was backing out of his Campbell's tomato soup can to check out his breakfast offerings. It was early September in Trenton, but it was chilly this morning, so she grabbed a light-weight leather jacket from her closet, and strapped on her utility belt – with gun, pepper spray, stun gun and holster for her pager. Then she grabbed her keys off the kitchen counter, snagged her laptop bag and purse and headed out the door, forgetting about making coffee.

She had been a Bond Enforcement Agent, or Bounty Hunter, working for her cousin Vinnie until arson destroyed the Vincent Plum Bail Bonds office last year. She had worked off and on for Rangeman for the last two years, as her financial circumstances dictated. Ranger seemed to always know when she needed money; he checked her refrigerator and cupboards, and then offered her the work. Rangeman was a broad-service security company, providing commercial and residential security, personal protection (body guards). The employees at Rangeman also did Bond Enforcement for Vinnie and other local Bail Bonds and Federal agencies. With fewer skips to help her pay bills, Ranger had convinced her she needed the full time work, and Rangeman had plenty to keep her busy. She had started at a desk, mostly running searches or background checks on potential clients, as well as investigations and client relations work. She proved to be better at these than many of the Rangemen staff, who preferred physical action over sitting at a computer behind a desk. Even Steph preferred the action of chasing skips and the flexibility that gave her, but the instability of the pay checks made it less attractive by comparison. Tank, Ranger's second-in-command, was her day-to-day supervisor, and occasionally gave her lower risk skips just so she could keep her hand in the game and keep her license current, and she always had a Rangeman partner when she went out. Two conditions of her employment were getting into better physical shape and to always carrying her gun, which meant she had to "qualify" on the gun range quarterly.

She pulled her Rangeman Explorer into the garage at Haywood, into her slot, beeped it locked, and headed for the elevator. She pressed the call button and the doors opened immediately.

" 'Morning, Lester." She called to the man who was leaning lazily on the wall in the elevator as it opened. Lester was inarguably her very best friend at Rangeman, other than Ranger. Ranger's cousin, and also a former Army Ranger, Lester had served under Ranger's command, and seemed to understand the complicated so-called "relationship" she had with Ranger. He always knew how to pull her out of her depressions when she felt that Ranger was pulling away, again, which seemed too frequent for her emotional health. Steph noted that today he had his blond-tipped dark brown hair spiked, and his Rangeman t-shirt was as usual pulling tight across his broad muscular shoulders and chest, as if he were The Hulk and could at any moment rip out of the t-shirt with a roar. With a sigh she broke off her inspection before it invited some innuendo or ill-considered comment from the Rangeman-designated playboy. "You heading out already?"

" 'Morning, beautiful. I was watching the monitors, so I came down to get you when I saw you pull in. Tank wants to see us now," he said. As the doors closed he pressed the button for five and reached for her laptop bag.

Yielding the bag to Lester, Steph fretted, "I'm not late for anything, am I? I didn't have any early meeting on my schedule." Her voice had more than a touch of worry. Who wants to be summoned to the boss's office first thing in the morning, before she even had her coffee?

"No, something is up, and he wants you, me and Bobby in Conference Room three as soon as possible." Lester seemed a tad less relaxed now, meaning he didn't know what was up either.

"Is there coffee?"

"You bet, several carafes, including hazelnut and French vanilla, and Ella brought donuts since Ranger isn't here to object."

Ranger was a health fanatic and was very particular that all the employees eat healthily, so sweets were normally not on the menu at Rangeman. Ella was the resident "housekeeper" for the building, which included the apartments that were supplied for the employees who chose to live there. She cleaned the common areas and the apartments, and provided snacks and lunches for all employees and dinners when needed. Ranger had the large 7th floor penthouse apartment in the building, so Ella cooked all of his meals, and basically took care of whatever else was needed. In other words, she was the RangeMom to everyone there, and was Ranger's and Lester's aunt.

When she first started working there full time, Steph had moved into an apartment on the 4th floor, since it was easier to get up early to go to the gym, and she could use her own bathroom to shower and change, as the gym had no separate locker or shower facilities for women. Steph was the only woman on staff other than Ella, who lived in an apartment on 6 with her husband, who also worked for Rangeman as a handyman/facilities maintenance man.

After 4 months, Steph moved back to her old apartment, deciding she would be more comfortable. She could use the bathroom in Ranger's apartment to shower and change when she needed to. She had had a key fob for his apartment for most of the last 2 years, since she used it as a sanctuary when her own apartment didn't offer enough security - whether Ranger was present or not. It seemed that he was gone more often than not, as he had been for the last few months.

Steph's relationship with Ranger was hard to describe; he denied it was a relationship, but it was the most supportive of any Steph had ever had outside of Mary Lou, her best friend since childhood. Ranger was always there for her; he had rescued her from danger more often than she could recount, and when she was down and just needed a shoulder, he'd be there. There had never been any doubt that she was attracted to him, and the fact that she had grown to depend upon him for validation, had bothered them both. That she was in love with him was a not so well-guarded secret, although she had never told him. That he also loved her was doubted by only Stephanie, but was apparent to anyone who knew them. That they both ignored and tried to deny these facts made life for those around them frustrating at times.

The months since she joined Rangeman fulltime had been confounding, as Ranger had almost immediately imposed a professional-only relationship on them. This "pulling back" pissed her off at first, even after both Tank and Lester explained Ranger's intent; but understanding his intent and feeling good about it was definitely not the same thing. Ranger had always encouraged "the word on the street" to be that she was his "woman" – mostly to let the worst elements know that she was under his protection. It had probably saved her life more than once, but when she started working at Rangeman, Ranger didn't want his staff to assume that she was there ONLY because she was "his woman," so he tried to create a distance between them so she could prove her qualifications on her own, to earn her own place on the team. She had worked doubly hard to do just that, and had succeeded. Not that she was equal to any of them in physical strength, prowess or with weapons, but she applied her Business Degree to helping on the administrative and client work, and used her intuition and knowledge on the investigative side. She had improved her conditioning substantially, and was more than just competent with her gun. But by that time, Ranger had gone "into the wind," on some sort of secret mission, and hadn't been there to see how well she had done. One reason she had moved back to her apartment was that it simply hurt to continue to live in the same building that Ranger did, when her only interactions with him were strictly business related.

Without even pausing to put her purse and jacket away in her cubicle, she followed Lester into the conference room. Tank and Bobby were already there, and polishing off a couple of donuts. Tank fit his name perfectly; 6'6" and over 280 pounds of hard-cut solid muscle, head shaved smooth. His ebony skin was almost the same color as the black Rangeman uniform he wore. Bobby was a marginally smaller version of Tank, 6'2", 210 and dark chocolate skin, with Army-short hair. Bobby was the company Medic, as he had been in the Army. Like Lester, Tank and Bobby had served with Ranger. This was a tight team, they had been together under the most horrific of battle conditions, always had each other's back, and came together to start Rangeman. Steph pulled out the chair next to Tank, dropped her purse and jacket in the chair to her right, then she grabbed a cup and almost filled it up with the hazelnut coffee, leaving room for the sugar and cream that made it more light tan than black. Then she scoured the pastry tray and found several of her favorite Boston Crèmes, bless Ella.

Lester sat next to Bobby, poured a mug of black coffee and grabbed two glazed donuts. "So, boss, what's the deal? We have a revolution to put down today?" Tank raised his eyebrows at Lester, and handed Stephanie a white envelope.

Steph took the envelope and examined it – nothing on the outside, no address, no letterhead, just a plain, white, business-sized envelope. She glanced at Tank, who continued to eat his donut with no expression, then at Lester who shrugged. Opening the envelope, she pulled out the contents and read over the documents.

"A one-way ticket to Miami! Tank, what's up? The flight leaves in less than two hours! I have to pack. I can't leave Rex home alone!" Puzzled as much as panicked, Steph set the ticket on the table and continued to stare at it, barely avoiding hyperventilating.

"Don't worry about packing. Ella has a suitcase ready for you with the essentials; all of your preferences. Cruzanne in Miami is getting together another suitcase with clothes that are appropriate for Florida this time of year. All you have to do is get there. Rex will come here and we'll look after him. Your job will be to find Ranger and bring him home."

"ME? Of all the security experts you have on staff here, Miami and the other offices, why do you think I am capable of doing this? And if he wanted to come home, why doesn't he just get on a plane and come home? How do you even know where he is? At our last briefing, no one had any idea where he was."

Lester jumped in before Tank could respond, "Steph, one thing you have proved over the last few months, is that you have a unique ability to put yourself in the skip's mind, and figure out how he is moving or where he might be holing up. You are better at that than anyone else on the roster. And right now, Ranger is basically a "skip" as far as we are concerned."

"You and Ranger have a special connection – you will know when you are close, even if you can't see him," Tank added. On this last statement, Steph raised her hand to the back of her neck, not that she currently felt any tingle or sensation, but recalling how it felt made her sad, and made her blush. She hadn't realized anyone else had noticed that she always got a tingly neck whenever Ranger was within a few dozen feet of her; it made it hard for him to sneak up on her even when he tried. She often wondered if he ever felt the same or something similar. But no one could sneak up on Ranger; he had a hyper-awareness of his surroundings at all times.

"As for knowing where he is, I got a call from the General this morning. It seems that a Sheriff's office in South Florida found Ranger's fingerprints all over a cheap motel room in Everglades City. There were two bodies in the room, small time felons, both dead of heroin overdoses. Ranger would never walk out and leave fingerprints if he didn't want them found, especially at such a potential crime scene. When the Sheriff tried searching the fingerprints, an alert came up to notify a number in Washington. So the General got the call and convinced the Sheriff that Ranger was not a criminal, and was, in fact, a valued employee working in Homeland Security. And that it would require specially trained operatives to find Ranger if he didn't want to be found. He told the Sheriff that he would make arrangement to engage an appropriate team. Stephanie, you are that team. You will meet with the Sheriff in Collier County and assure him that you will find Ranger, and that they should not waste their resources. Ranger is wanted only for questioning about the two victims, he is not suspected of any involvement in their deaths. The ME ruled the deaths accidental overdoses, self-administered. Ranger has relatives in that part of South Florida, but I've already contacted them and no one admits to having seen him. There are no indications that Ranger is in the area anymore, so you need to track him down. We still don't know why Ranger was there, other than what he told me when he left, that this was a personal emergency, something to do with his cousin."

With that, Tank handed Steph a briefcase, in which was a file folder. "Read that on the plane to get any other details you need. Mario from the Miami office will meet you at the Miami airport and give you Ranger's personal Navigator. It has a car phone, GPS and all the toys you would expect locked in the gunsafe under the driver's seat. It will have the suitcase Cruzanne packed, and all of the necessary documentation you will need, including your Florida driver's license, concealed carry permits and BEA license. He'll also have some Rangeman Miami business cards for you with the car phone and Miami office numbers. While you are in Florida, you will be an employee of Rangeman Miami; you will use those cards and that number. The Miami number listed as your business number will ring through to me here, so I will intercept any calls that come to you at that number. Stay in touch with me every day, by calling that number, at the same time every day or any time you need me. We don't intend to misplace another Rangeman employee."

Lester got up to take Stephanie to the airport. He grabbed her laptop bag, and wrapped his arm around her shoulder leading her from the conference room. "Beautiful, don't worry, we all want Ranger home, and Tank wouldn't have given this to you if he didn't have every confidence that you'd be successful."

* * *

"people think being alone makes you lonely,

but I don't think that's true.

being surrounded by the wrong people is the

loneliest thing in the world"

kim culbertson


	3. Chapter 3 – Arriving in Florida

**Chapter 3 – Arriving in Florida**

I turned the key in the ignition and tried to ignore the fact that my heart was beating double-time. The secret to being a successful bounty hunter is being able to seize the moment, I told myself. Flexibility. Adaptation. Creative thought. All necessary attributes. And it didn't hurt to have balls.

Although I was born lacking the latter, at least physically, I felt I had more than earned them figuratively. I mean, how many women would have the balls to blackmail her cousin to give her a job for which she has no training and exposes her to danger on a daily basis?

Of course at the time, the part about being exposed to danger on a daily basis was not a known parameter of the equation. I knew I'd be working with "Low Lifes" and that wasn't an issue. I just didn't know they would shoot at me, stalk me, kidnap me, throw food on me or lead me on wild goose chases through piles of garbage, mud and other disgusting substances. Ok, based on what it took to get the job means I have the requisite balls to do it.

And when mine aren't enough to get the job done, I ask Ranger to show up with his God given and US Army-enhanced balls. Ranger is a former Army Ranger, Special Forces, admitted mercenary and God-knows what else and he has cojones to spare. Of course now that I work for Rangeman, I have an assigned partner, always male, always a big, muscle-bound former super soldier or SEAL or wherever Ranger finds these guys.

That wasn't an option today as I drove into Clearwater, FL in a Black Navigator I had picked up in Miami six weeks ago. I'd been driving around Florida's west coast on the lookout for Ranger who had been out of contact for over three months.

Ranger had been tracked to a dirty, cheap motel outside Everglades City, FL where two junkies were found dead of an overdose over a month ago. The police had reported these men to have been flunkies of one Alvar Montoya, a small-scale drug distributor and general scum-bag well known in the Miami area. The junkies had been registered in that motel room for two months, and we assumed they had Ranger with them. How these folks had any interest in, or tie back to Ranger, was a mystery to all of Rangeman.

Ranger and I shared a rather unusual psychic connection that Tank felt would give me the best chance of finding him if he wanted to be found; the traces of his presence left in the motel room led us to believe they were intentional and that Ranger wanted to be found.

As a bounty hunter, I have a reputation for always getting my man, by whatever unorthodox methods are required. And I had no intention of failing in this. Ranger is important to me in many ways, he is my boss, but he is also my mentor, best friend and one-time lover. So hell, yeah, if he can be found, I'll do it. No one else had found any other evidence of him since Everglades City.

Tank, Lester, Bobby, and I agreed I would concentrate on the West Coast of Florida assuming Ranger would continue searching for Montoya. We believed that Montoya had Ranger held captive for at least two months, supposedly resulting in the demise of two of Montoya's men. After getting away from the 'flunkies' it made sense that Montoya would go after him again.

Rangeman Miami had several teams of men doing the same as I. They'd searched the Miami area first as far north as Daytona Beach and south to Key West, thinking Ranger might stay closer to his former home in Miami, and Montoya's base of operations. Then they turned west to the Naples and Marco Island area. No further evidence of Ranger had been found.

I found an address for one of Ranger's relatives in South Florida. Being curious and hoping for more information than Tank got, I decided to look him up. I followed the GPS into the swamp known as The Everglades and was sure there had to be a mistake. Driving west from Miami International Airport on US 41, I saw wide open areas of very tall, dried looking grass, swaying in the slight breeze, and many signs for Airboat Rides, a Gaming Resort, and finally a large sign that said "Miccosukee Indian Village" - and the GPS said to turn left, into the Village. I found the building that said Miccosukee Police Headquarters. Parking right at the entrance – Rangeman parking karma? – I got out of the Navigator and looked around. The Village was just that, a dozen or so cinderblock and stucco official looking buildings with maybe a dozen large tiki hut looking structures behind them, then what appeared to be a relatively normal suburban subdivision further down the road. Truthfully, I knew so little about Ranger's family that anything I learned would probably surprise me. But American Indian? I think the better term is gobsmacked.

At the reception desk stood a woman, just slightly younger than me, with lovely cinnamon mocha skin, long eggplant dark hair and large brown eyes, wearing a white polo shirt with a badge embroidered over her left breast. After asking to speak to William Panther, I handed her my Miami business card, and said that I was looking for a relative of his, and thought he might have some information for me. She made a brief call then said the Lieutenant would be right out.

"Ms. Plum? I'm William. I assume you want information about Carlos. How can I help you?"

Ok, I did see a small trace of resemblance. William was shorter than Ranger, by an inch or so, and not nearly as muscular, but close. It was easier for me to believe that this was Ranger's cousin, even moreso than Lester who had the build, but none of the coloring. William had the cinnamon mocha coloring of the young woman at the desk, with long, very silky looking black hair, a broad face, prominent cheekbones with deep brown, almost black eyes. He was probably a little older than Ranger, but if so, it was hard to tell. Why did some men age so gracefully?

"Like you said, I'm looking for Carlos. I know that you've been contacted by other Rangeman employees, and I understand that you don't know his current location, but I was hoping you could give me additional information that might help me locate him. He hasn't checked in with any of his offices since he left in July. When he left Trenton, he said he had a personal emergency; something to do with his cousin. Are you the cousin he was referring to?"

"May I ask you a question first?"

"Sure".

"Are you the Stephanie who helped Carlos in recovering Julie when she was abducted?" I nodded.

"Then I already know how much Carlos trusts you. Yes, I called Carlos and asked for his help, and now I am regretting that. My oldest son was abducted, and we knew who took him. We thought it would take only a couple of weeks to find him and get him back, but Carlos has now been involved for months, and it is not yet resolved. When the others called, I didn't want to go into the details over the phone, so just told them truthfully that I didn't know where he might be. Since you made the effort to come here, if you will take the time, I'll explain the situation to you." He turned and walked toward the door, guiding me to follow him with his hand on my back and calling over his shoulder that he'd be back in an hour or so.

We got into his Miccosukee Police Black and White and he headed west for a few miles, on a road that ran parallel to the highway I had been on. I was hypnotized by the view of little else but tall grass swaying in the light breeze, with an unbroken bleached Florida sky above. The flatness was occasionally interrupted by islands of tall trees.

Another resemblance to Ranger, William drove "in a zone", he was as silent as a statue. After a few minutes, the scenery got boring, and I was getting restless. "William? Please give me some background. What happened to your son? And, why didn't Carlos have back-up?"

"Well, I'll start at the beginning, more or less. Billy is not my biological child. My wife was pregnant when I met her, the result of a sexual assault. She was born in Cuba, and the assault happened there, when she was 14. She knew the identity of the person who assaulted her; the man who is Billy's father."

"She was only 14? Wasn't the assault reported? Was the man arrested?"

"No, she never told anyone at home. Even if she had reported it, nothing would have been done. Not in those days."

"How did you meet her? You're not from Cuba."

"Well, that's where the story gets complicated. You've heard of the "Mariel boatlift?"

"I think so. But I don't know any of the details."

"Conchita, my wife, was among the thousands who came to the States by way of Mariel. Carlos and I were the crew on the boat that she arrived on. The boat was owned by Carlo's grandfather, who was her grand-uncle. I met her on that trip. She was sick most of the trip, so Carlos and I looked out for her. When we arrived in Key West, she came back to the Village with me, since she had nowhere else to go. I wanted my mother to look after her. Her mother died when she was quite young. When her pregnancy was obvious, I asked her to marry me and allow me to help raise the baby as my own child.

Carlos and I also knew the identity of Billy's father. He was also on the boat with us, compliments of Castro's desire to empty his jails onto these boats heading to the States. The man was then, and continued to be a small time crook and drug dealer.

When I called Carlos about Billy's abduction, he and I agreed to keep this within the family, and keep Rangeman out of it. But he didn't call even me once he realized that he needed assistance."

"Why not have Lester involved? He's family, too, right?"

"He's not related to either Conchita, or me. I think at that time, Carlos just didn't want Rangeman involvement at all."

"Yeah. Lester is one of the infamous gossips within Rangeman, and I'm sure his involvement would have guaranteed the whole story spreading throughout Rangeman in no time. Carlos doesn't like having his personal business being the subject of gossip. I hope he won't be mad when he sees me."

"You are that sure that you can find him?"

"Damn Skippy. At Rangeman, we all have our specialties. This is mine."

Before he could respond, we reached an intersection. William turned south. We were driving down a narrow asphalt road that hadn't been repaved or repaired in years, with a narrow dirt shoulder, dropping off to shallow water and grass on either side. I saw large birds perched in the water watching for delicacies they could grab for lunch. I half expected to see an alligator or two, but never did. We pulled into a clearing of crushed shells and sand that was surrounded by single story stucco homes and more of the large tiki huts behind the homes; there were palm trees in abundance, as well as some scrubby trees with exposed mangled roots. Beyond the huts were wooden docks and piers, beside which were strange looking boats, then more of the water and tall grass.

At the far end of the clearing William pulled up next to a two-story clapboard house that had an old-fashioned look with a wraparound porch. It extended over the water on high stilts. "This is my mother's home. In this village, my mother is the Head of the Panther Clan. She will have lunch ready, and Conchita and the younger children will be here as well. Please join us for lunch and we can tell you everything that we know."

We climbed a dozen steps onto the porch, then entered a spacious first floor with well-worn heart-pine floors, and large windows in the back looking out over the Everglades – more grass, mid-day sunlight glinting off still water and in the distance, islands of trees. We went into the kitchen where an older woman was setting a large table, and a woman about my age was finishing the food preparation. Two young children, a girl and a boy, sat at the table gaping at me, then jumped up and ran to William yelling "Daddy" at the top of their lungs. William picked them up and planted a kiss on each forehead before depositing them back into their chairs. William introduced me to his mother, Leotie, who embraced me like a long-lost relative, which would normally make me uncomfortable, but today just made me feel welcomed. William's wife, Conchita, introduced herself saying she was also Carlos' cousin through a different branch of the family. The children, Aiyana "Yana" and Mahkah "Mikie" both smiled when they heard that I was a friend of Tio Carlos. Even though technically they were his cousins as well, calling him "Tio" was a sign of respect.

Leotie explained that Carlos's mother was her first cousin. When I told them I was not familiar with Carlos's ancestry, and was surprised about his Native American ancestry, she told me about Ernesto and Talise. They knew Ella and Lester (huh, I **am** the only one who knows so very little about Ranger) and I got quite a genealogy lesson before lunch was served.

Conchita explained her side of the family, and described the trip from Mariel as best she could recall, having been sick most of the trip, supplying some details that William had forgotten or left out. Mostly about how crowded and nasty the boat was, and how expertly William and Carlos had helped Tio Ernesto (Ranger's Grandfather) handle the boat under difficult circumstances. And some embellished tales of how well they had looked after her.

When they talked about Billy, they showed me photos of him. He was a good looking young man, with long, almost curly black hair. They explained how he was abducted by his biological father, and that while Billy had known William wasn't his "real" father, he had not been aware of the identity of his biological father until he saw him in the schoolyard. 'Chita said Billy was a younger version of his father, which is how Montoya singled him out in the first place. Montoya had made an effort to get to know Billy over several weeks. Eliciting from Billy his story served to confirm his suspicions; before he kidnapped him. Billy had told his parents of the man who had been spending time talking to him after school, before the bus came. They had told him years before of how he came to be, that his biological father was a criminal who had raped Conchita when she was too young - and motherless - to realize the dangers of such men. But Billy, feeling more grown than his years, became fascinated with the idea of knowing his father, and didn't reject his continued attentions. And, they suspect, may have gone willingly with Montoya at first.

She and William were very worried since they knew Montoya had been a criminal all of his life, and they did not know what their son was being exposed to over the last three months.

Of course I had been astounded to learn of Ranger's role in the "Mariel boatlift". After lunch, I took copies of some photos (one of a young Carlos and William on an airboat giving tours to tourists), and details of how William had located Carlos, and sent him away from Everglades City. He was such a private person; would he be angry that I was getting so much personal information about him? Or, now that I knew, would he open up even a little more? Could I persuade him to share stories with me like William and Conchita had done? This could be fun, when I find him – or risky depending upon his mood.

As I was leaving, 'Chita gave me a big hug and said they knew of me from both Carlos and Lester, and that I would always be welcome to visit at any time. Given that I really didn't know how things stood between Ranger and me, I felt like a fraud being embraced so warmly by this loving family, who had always been there for Carlos. I had met the Mañosos when Ranger was in the hospital after Scrog almost killed him, and I now knew that Ranger was surrounded by a huge, warm and affectionate family. I knew he had a great capacity for warmth and affection, but his Army training and experience had taught him to compartmentalize and bury it. But I had hope it could be resurrected and nurtured.

As we drove back, William had picked up on some of my comments over lunch. He said that Carlos had not always been the closed-off person I seemed to despair of. Having spent four years in the Army himself, he said it was his experience that the military brands itself on the soul and causes a man to view the world and all human endeavor through a unique set of mental filters. Carlos had chosen the military as his profession for more than eight years. The more profound and intense the experience, the hotter the brand, and the deeper it is plunged. Carlos had served in some of the most difficult and dangerous units in the Army. He had been a combat infantryman, a Ranger, a Special Forces Officer and then continued to do covert work for the military during the years since leaving active duty. Close brutal combat puts a callous layer on each individual who undergoes the experience. With some men, their souls become trapped inside those accrued layers and they stay tightly bound up within themselves, unable or unwilling to reach outside that hard protective shell.1 He said that perhaps Carlos had become so used to that shell, since it is a necessity to survival in combat situations, that he had made no efforts to break it open, and maybe didn't recall how to live otherwise. He assured me it can be broken or at least penetrated, but the person inside may be someone different.

I needed to think on that a while, so changed the subject. "Did Carlos ever try to lure you to work for Rangeman?" I asked him.

"Yes, when he first started the company. I was already a Sargeant in the Police Force here, and didn't want to spend as much time away from my family as working for Rangeman Miami would have required. I have other responsibilities within the Tribal Village that I love, and I didn't want to sacrifice those, either."

William took me back to my car, and told me that I had to make sure that Carlos called him as soon as I found him. I thanked him for lunch, and the information, and assured him that Carlos and now I would do everything possible to find and return Billy. He gave me directions to the Collier County Sheriff's office in Naples, since I had to check in with them.

US 41 is more commonly known as the Tamiami Trail. It runs from Tampa to Miami through the heart of the Everglades. Driving on the Tamiami Trail heading west into Naples, either side was a vast expanse of sawgrass, with occasional islands of trees and scraggly palm trees close to the road. The birds roaming the sky were numerous; sea gulls I recognized, but some of the larger birds were new to me. As we entered Collier County, a few side roads and housing developments blossomed out of the sawgrass.

I took the turn-off southwest to Everglades City; it had been an easy 1.5 hour drive from The Village. I drove through more sawgrass swamp, into a small town that had a temporary look. Manufactured homes on flat lots, some with a few palm trees and no grass. The whole town is on what appears on the map to be a small island carved out of what would pass for a muddy shallow river elsewhere. Most businesses appeared to be related to fishing or Everglades tour guides, with a few grocery stores, laundromats and such. Major appeal seems to be to seasonal residents and vacationers. There were two or three small single story motels, none very appealing in the early darkness. I don't know which one Ranger had been held in.

Although I knew Ranger hadn't been here for several weeks, I could almost feel him here. I parked in a marina parking lot on the south tip of the island and stared at the dark water and the carpet of stars in the clear sky. I was just thinking for a while about what William had said. The shell, the one which combat soldiers create to protect their souls, and probably their hearts, too; I'd seen it visible on Ranger many times. Will he ever allow it to be penetrated? And would he be in danger should he ever allow it? Thinking about him I was suddenly having problems breathing.

I grabbed my water bottle and downed half of it in two swallows. Tank said Ranger is not still in the area and William confirmed that, since he told him to get far away. From the looks of this place, getting far away seemed like a good idea. There is nothing worth staying for; I won't find any answers here.

I had to find a place to stay for the night. I headed to Naples and a Hampton Inn. After meeting with the Sheriff's office the next morning, I picked up the search heading north from Naples along US 41 toward Fort Meyers.

1 Inside Delta Force; The Story of America's Elite Counterterrorist Unit by Eric L. Haney, 2002, Delacorte Press


	4. Chapter 4 - Locating Ranger

_Disclaimer: all locations in this story exist, but have been fictionalized. Not all businesses exist, but may be figments of my imagination._

**Chapter 4 – Locating Ranger**

The drive up Florida's west coast was intermittently interesting. Miles of flat green nothingness broken by occasional tall palm trees, interspersed with strip malls, billboards and sporadic signs of civilization. I was driving parallel to Interstate 75, but wanted to stay on the more local roads – leaving 41 when Estero Blvd cut over to the barrier islands. I formed the impression that the coast was just one residential or vacation home or golfing community after another. On the barrier island, it was one small marina community backed against another. I wanted to stop at any city or town that might attract Ranger to stay a while, though I'm not sure what would draw him other than the need to rest. I spent three days exploring Naples and its surrounding communities.

I was operating under the assumption that Ranger would run early every morning, and his preference would be along the beach if one was near. I trailed north along the beaches. I'd reconnoiter the area each evening to decide where the runners would most likely be in the morning. The dawn would find me up, warmed up and ready to go.

I love the beach, but realized that I prefer dawn on an east coast beach where you can watch the sun rise over the water, not behind trees and high rise buildings. In fact, I prefer dawn in a nice warm bed, with the covers pulled up around my ears. Finding Ranger was more important than sleeping in.

On those days when I actually caught a glimpse of the sunrise, it was usually one of strong colors – reds shading to deep lavender, and then slowing fading to a single blue. And the sky was almost always blue, something I wasn't used to seeing in Trenton. And the air was mostly smog free. God only know what kind of damage it was doing to my New Jersey lungs.

Dawn also brought out the shore birds, who assumed anyone on their beach must have snacks for them. I shared the shore with several different types of sea gulls that didn't quite look like any of the New Jersey sea gulls. There were big brown pelicans, herons, egrets, and dozens of other birds I'll never identify, and all of them squawking their happiness at a new day. Sandpipers skittered along the edge of waves breaking on the sand. Too happy for such an ungodly early hour.

Crowds of people gathering sea shells, digging into the wet sand to see what shells the tides and waves had deposited since yesterday. I was informed by one older woman that the nicest shells were all gone by an hour after dawn. I'm glad I never wanted any shells that badly. Me, I'm up before dawn only because I'm searching for one bad-ass Cuban who broke his own cardinal rule: he walked into a dangerous situation without any back-up or back-up plan.

Dawn on Florida's Southwest coast wasn't as nice as it is on Point Pleasant, but the early morning colors were interesting – rose and orchid reflected attractively on the Bay and the Gulf, and on the high-rise condos along the waterfront. I'd ready and warmed up while it was still dark out, and positioned to watch the runners. I'd pick out the best runners and follow them for a while, making sure I got in five miles each morning. Can't slack off, can I? This isn't a vacation, after all, and staying in shape might prove to be critical. If I struck out with the runners, I'd spend the rest of the day checking out gyms, gun stores and firing ranges. Ranger would make an effort to stay in shape and keep his edge, so I checked all the places he might have stopped. I also made it a point to keep up my range time, using my own gun, and renting others I figured Ranger was partial to, just in case the need arose.

This was my routine for four weeks, Naples to Venice, and little towns in between – back and forth onto US 41, then onto barrier island roadways. The spidey buzz would come and go, but never be particularly strong. No one recognized the photo I flashed them... but the overall physical description seemed to ring a bell a time or two. Especially at Dragon Warriors Martial Arts club in South Venice where I struck gold.

South Venice was a small community, west of 41, but with no bridge to the barrier island. There was a small strip mall on Sheraton Dr., close to the road to the tennis courts and recreation center. Warrior Dragon was in this strip mall, between a convenience store and a Laundromat. I found no motels closer than US 41. The waterway between the Recreation Center and the barrier island was quite narrow. I could swim across it if my life depended on it, which thankfully it didn't today, so far.

I asked to speak to the manager. I gave him my Miami business card and told him I was looking for a "missing colleague," and handed him the most recent photo we had of Ranger, in his full Rangeman black SWAT attire, looking big and menacing.

"Does this man look familiar to you? Have you seen him in the last few weeks?"

"A big guy, about that build, almost same height as me and with that coloring, came here three days in a row last month. I only remember him because he almost bested my top instructors in every discipline; that guy must have a closet full of black belts." The club manager, blond hair curling down his neck, with sea foam green eyes, who at 6'1 and 210 was sporting a Rangeman-worthy body. "I offered him a job instructing our Krav Maga classes, but he said he had a job waiting for him elsewhere."

He described the guy, who said his name was Carlos, as having dark brown dreadlocks hanging over his shoulders and down his back, a heavy mustache, scruffy beard and a heavy Spanish accent. A closet full of black belts? Yeah, OK. Dreadlocks, mustache, accent? Ranger undercover? Worked for me.

I asked the manager more questions about this Carlos. "Do you know where he was staying? What he did when he wasn't in the club? Did he say what or where the other job was?"

"We asked. The guy was unnaturally quiet. He didn't talk about himself, or much of anything else either. He'd show up here around 9:30 a.m. and work out until 3:00 or 4:00. Really pushing himself. The instructors would challenge him. Some of them he was able to beat on first try. For the others, once he figured out his opponent's weakness, he'd never lose a match again. And my instructor's rarely found any weakness in his form after a couple of matches.

One client, coming in after an early tennis match at the Rec Center, claims he saw Carlos swimming across the channel coming back from the island. We were curious about his early morning treks to the island. Several of my instructors were actually uneasy about him. He never made any menacing moves or said anything to induce them to be scared. It was just his overpowering aura of quiet strength. Who is this guy and why are you looking for him? Is he dangerous? Were we in danger from him?"

I told him, "He is a colleague, who was working a security job in the area and hasn't checked in recently. He isn't dangerous… under normal circumstances." What I didn't say was "unless you are a criminal, designated by the US Government as an enemy or have crossed him." I guess the 9/11 hijacker who trained in Venice up the road a bit, would have been in danger, if anyone had known the details in time to call in Ranger's counter-terrorism team. And I assumed none of these folk would fall into any of Ranger's danger categories. I left it at that. If Ranger didn't want to share with him, I wouldn't either.

I called Tank and told him that I was sure that we had assumed correctly - Ranger was working his way up the Florida West Coast. I explained how I had met with William, the explanation of the "mission" Ranger was on, and the lead I got in South Venice. I asked if he had any ideas about what sort of job Ranger would be taking. I waited while Tank pulled the rest of the core team into his office.

After a few minutes of back and forth, Lester left the room for 10 minutes. When he came back in he said, "My half-bother, Reynaldo, owns the "Rey's Martial Arts and Self Defense" club on Clearwater Beach." He surprised everyone with that bit of information. "I'll call Rey and ask if anyone fitting that description has been in."

With my spidey senses pinging high on that news, I skirted past Sarasota to get to Clearwater Beach to check out Reynaldo's. I spent the night at a nice beach hotel in St. Pete Beach so I could start in Clearwater Beach the next morning. And I treated myself to a great dinner at a beach-side seafood restaurant, and planned to sleep in! No running at dawn the next morning, but my body betrayed me and I woke up at 7:00 and couldn't get back to sleep. After I had breakfast, I drove around the area and found a few places I wanted to come back to, opportunity permitting. The shops around here were so unique I had to force myself to put them on a list, and keep driving north.

The 20-mile drive up Gulf Blvd was quick, with beach resorts, hotels and large modern beach houses behind eight-foot security gates on the Gulf side of the road. The other side varied from moderate-sized single family homes, townhomes or strip shopping areas – mostly selling beach wear and accessories – and some very yummy looking restaurants. In many places, I could see the Gulf on my left and the Intracoastal Waterway on my right with not much land in between. Just wide enough for a high-rise condo or resort building on the beach side, a two-lane highway and boat docks on the Intracoastal side. Only a handful of traffic lights and no stop signs.

Tank had booked a suite for me in the Aqua Lea Resort and Spa on Clearwater's South Beach; it is a condo-hotel, in that the suites and rooms are individually owned, then rented as hotel rooms, with the management done by a national hotel chain. When it opened Rangeman had purchased three suites as investments or potential safe-houses. The most popular use was as housing for anyone temporarily assigned to MacDill's SOCOM (Special Operations Command) as some of the Rangemen who still had active government contracts were sometimes required to do.

The hotel was right on the edge of the Clearwater Beach business district. After I settled in I decided to spend the day checking out the area. I got a small illustrated tourist map, and realized the beach itself was less than seven miles from end to end, and maybe 3/4 mile across at the widest; this truly was a small island, with access restricted to the two bridges or by boat. From the hotel I walked one mile south to where the beach ended at Clearwater Pass, then turned and ran north past newer chain hotels, fancy high-rise condos, cabanas, busy restaurants and glitzy shops, until I reached the end of civilization, just under four miles. There Clearwater Beach linked up with Caladesi Island, a nature preserve, with no buildings in sight. I then ran the less than three miles of beach on this pristine unspoiled island to its end at Hurricane Pass. Turning back I ran the 4.5 miles back to the hotel. I walked around the Marina and tourist shops across from the hotel to get my bearings and spot any potential problem areas, of where there were many. I needed to shower and change, and then get busy, it was still before noon, but I didn't want to waste all of the daylight.

Lester called me little after noon to say that Rey had hired someone named Carlos, with dreads, a mustache and beard, who started three weeks ago. He had no resume or references, but did have impressive demonstrations of knowledge and skills. Apparently Rey didn't realize he had hired his own cousin or his half-brother's half-cousin. Actual familial relationships in that family were still murky to me, even with the genealogy lesson by Leotie.

On my tourist map I found Rey's club on 3rd St., just two blocks from my hotel, across the street from a pizza joint, where I decided to stop for lunch. As I entered the pizza shop, I glanced over at Rey's and noticed it was filled with youngsters in white gi uniforms practicing some form of martial arts. I couldn't see any instructor from here. I felt only a slight buzz of Ranger's presence, more than I felt in Everglades City, but not strong enough to indicate his actually being present. I guess he was out.

The pizza joint had no meatball subs, but they had a lot of Greek items on the menu that accounted for the pungent aroma. A guy in surfer shorts was sitting at a table eating something called a Gyro. I may have to try that one day. It looks good, even if it was smothered in onions. I ordered two slices of pizza and a Coke to go.

As I waited for my order, I realized that I had expected this trip to be "all business". But the reality of coming face-to-face with Ranger soon had started sending ripples through my self-imposed calm. Just being in areas where he had spent considerable time caused my spidey senses to respond – that had even stopped happening in Trenton – I'd managed to close the door on him that much. But the door was open again. The ripples had started at Leotie's house, then grew bigger in Everglades City, and were now threatening to grow to tsunami force. I had to get a handle on this before I faced him.

Unlike Ranger, compartmentalizing my emotions had never been my strong suit. But this sense of his presence was exactly why Tank had chosen me for this assignment. Although, questions were starting to form about Tank's motives; like why send me without backup into a potentially dangerous situation, where I might actually put Ranger at more risk; since I didn't have the level of skills possessed by most of the Merry Men. Any of them were infinitely more qualified to be back-up if things got rough. I don't usually second-guess Tank, but then he had never, or rarely, given me any cause to.

I walked to the end of 3rd street and crossed Hamden to sit at a bench near a dock and eat my lunch. The bench looked out onto a deep cove, which was lined on three sides by boat slips, many empty, but some with large sailboats or power boats on lifts, before it flowed into the main navigation channel. I finished eating and tossed my trash into the barrel. The pizza was ok, but it sure wasn't Shorty's or Pino's. I'd have to try something else next time or find better sources for food, like the McDonalds down the street.

As I started back across the street I saw that Hamden was lined with small motels of the type that were popular during the 50s, 60s and 70s, before the large chains took over. They were various shades of coral, sea green and sky blue, fading and peeling, obviously having seen better times. There were also empty lots where motels had been bulldozed to make room for condos or shops or restaurants. Lots of places to slip into and hide if it became necessary, for both me and the bad guys.

The island was less than a half-mile across here, and the active transition from old cheap-tourist Florida to new high-end South Beach glitz was glaring. Now it was time to check out Rey's. What was my plan? I had always taken a "play it by ear" approach to my skips when I first started. But working at Rangeman had taught me the value of having a plan before barging in.

So what was my plan? Since my 'spidey sense' told me Ranger wasn't there right now, I'd think of a plan later. I'd check out Rey's tomorrow, when hopefully Ranger would be there. I headed back to the hotel to change into my suit and hang out at the beach for a while. I hope I have some suntan oil in one of those suitcases!


	5. Chapter 5 - First Contact

So many thanks for staying with me and reviewing. This chapter is inspired, in retrospect, by "Standing in the Shadows of Love", by Janis Ian. Chapter 5 – First Contact

I looked around and shivered in the pre-dawn chill, missing the snugness of my blanket and pillow. Damn, it is still too dark at 5:30 a.m. The sun must be coming up on the east coast, but you wouldn't know it here. The moon had already set; I watched it slip into the Gulf ten minutes ago. The beach was dotted with runners who were truly serious about this even at high tide when the beach is smaller and you have to run through loose sand since the packed sand is covered in water.

I was doing a slow jog north approaching Caladesi Island, watching the runners coming back toward town. Since Ranger usually started out by 5 a.m. he should be on the return trip soon. My bet was that he would follow the path I took yesterday, south to Clearwater Pass, then turn north past the business district where Rey's club is located, then 4.5 miles until he reached Hurricane Pass. He'd want to do as close to ten miles as he could, so this approach seemed the best bet for me to see him.

I'd gone about three miles and it was closing in on 6 a.m.; the sun was still below the horizon, but pinks and purples were starting to light up the few high clouds in the eastern sky. The western sky was shading from black to dark gray to velvety silver.

I saw a shape gliding toward me in the stillness of the beach, a moving shadow against the dark ashen beach and sky, moving like a large black panther. Some low ambient light reflected off the sweat on his shirtless torso. This form I recognized immediately; there was no one more graceful than Ranger.

I moved off the beach and over to the seawall and sat to watch him pass. He was several yards away and deep in his zone when the hairs on my neck started tingling; the spidey buzz I had yesterday surrendered to a full-fledged roar, all the nerve endings in my body joined the little dance. It had been six months since I'd been this close to Ranger and my senses were celebrating.

I believed taht he sensed me, too. He slowed perceptibly, rubbed his neck and glanced around. I was in a deeply shadowed seawall area behind an eight story residential building and drinking from my water bottle; an anonymous runner taking a water break. A few units behind me were starting to wake up with some lights, but if anything they would cast me in silhouette. I would be no more than a still shadow in the dark if he looked this way. But would that make a difference? Would he know it was me? He seemed to shake it off and resume his pace again back toward town. Either he didn't know it was me, or didn't care. Disappointment burned like a spent candle in my chest.

When he was all but out of my range, I eased off the seawall and started to follow; he had started his cool down so I could keep up without winding myself. I followed as he passed the hotel and looped back down to Clearwater Pass to add a couple of miles to his route, until he disappeared into the front door of Rey's.

I turned and headed back to the hotel to shower, change, have breakfast. I needed to alert Tank that the subject had been located and positively identified. He agreed with the plan I came up with yesterday, to first do a visual surveillance of the street and Rey's and see if I can spot Ranger there.

I had to change before scoping out Rey's. I decided on my "warm climate" tan cargos, a nice tank top, and finally added a windbreaker since I was on Rangeman business, and needed to carry. I stuck my Sig in the holster at the small of my back, and my knife in the sheath in my cat boot. I pulled my wild curls though the back of my ball cap and added oversized sunglasses hiding most of my face. I joined the tourists as they walked down the sidewalk.

I looked around cautiously studying possible surveillance points. Looking for either cameras or where people could hide to observe, or for other potential dangers. Most people would think I was just looking at the stores, or the display windows - if they noticed at all since I made an effort to be very subtle and look like a typical tourist. I checked all doorways and alleys and upper story windows and roof tops. I checked behind me as well. If anyone followed me, I didn't want to give away my destination.

It was a warm day on Clearwater Beach for mid-October especially at two in the afternoon. Most folks were still dressing as if it were summer, but I was wearing a nylon windbreaker over my bright blue tank top, and cargos, and boots. A bit overdressed for this area, and probably not as subtle as I should have been.

Ranger's POV

I was standing at the front desk in Rey's, watching the tourists walk by. I had no classes or appointments for the rest of the day, and was taking a break before starting my afternoon workout. Rey was out at his appointments, so I had the place to myself for a while.

A brunette was walking slightly apart from a family group strolling down the opposite sidewalk, wearing a dark blue ball cap, with a lot of curls sprouting out the back. She was looking around as if for something in particular, but I couldn't get a clear view of her with those sunglasses. Compared to the family all in swim suits, all pasty white with splotches of bright red sunburn, she stood out in her cargos, windbreaker and heavy boots.

For the second time today, I had an old familiar tingle on the back of my neck; I hadn't felt that since I left Trenton and last saw Stephanie. The thought sent a pleasant rush through my body; I missed my Babe.

The first time, this morning on the beach, I didn't figure out the cause. It was quite strong and I was surprised that I could see no one - was someone hiding from me? Since I'm getting the same strong sensation now, I assume this woman must have been on the beach this morning, but out of sight.

No one had ever triggered this sensation except Steph. But, this couldn't possibly be Steph! She would have no reason to be here. I'd not contacted anyone in over three months. If the fingerprints from Everglades City had led Rangeman to me, this would be sooner than I planned for. This would be record time, even for Tank.

Apparently Rey hadn't recognized me, so he wouldn't be giving me up to Lester. Some advantage to not seeing relatives for years on end; I was surprised I had even remembered about Rey. He'd bought this property for the club about five years ago. I'd called him from Naples to see if he could use any help. I told him I'd found him on the internet, which is exactly how I found his phone number. After talking for less than ten minutes, he said he could use an assistant, and he'd give me a chance to live up to my claims when I got to Clearwater Beach. The workout he gave me as a "test" was the best I'd had since leaving Trenton; he really made me work for it. Rey was a former Marine, Force Recon, the Marine equivalent of Army Special Forces, so he quickly recognized that my training had been military.

We hit it off, and I was careful to make sure nothing would slip that would cause him to recognize me as family. I'd been working here for three weeks, picked up some of the intermediate Tae Kwon Do classes, started a Krav Maga class, and picked up a few Personal Trainer gigs. Nothing too strenuous on my time, I spent the rest of my time working out, to rebuild my strength and stamina, and trying to find leads on Montoya. According to my source, he left the East Coast three weeks ago, rumored to have come to Tampa for family reasons. I had yet to find where he was staying or hanging out.

I saw when the brunette spotted the name of the club on the front window; she paused very briefly as if to fix it in her mind, and she also briefly examined me through the window and her oversized sunglasses without registering recognition, then moved on. If it was Steph, I was saddened by the lack of response, although I would hardly blame her. I'd all but ignored her for most of the past year, but she had never been far from my thoughts.

I was uneasy about where things might be with her, since I'd basically cut her out of my life for the last several months. It felt necessary at the time, but I'm sure she saw it as me pushing her away once again. She'd have every right to turn her back to me.

I thought the distance would help us both move on. Once she realized she didn't need to depend on me to rescue her or to validate her achievements at every step, she'd find that she could go forward and succeed under her own strength. Which I had fully expected she would want to do.

I'd never wanted a relationship; I could never see how one would fit into my lifestyle. In fact, coming to Florida to look for Billy was a way to create a real physical distance between us. Tank had accused me of "running away" from Stephanie again and was quite angry with me. Of course he was right.

My whole plan with Stephanie had backfired when I realized how much I had come to depend on what she brought to my otherwise solitary and dark existence. The unexpected hole in my life was overtaking me, causing me to lose focus and make tactical errors, despite all of my Army training.

After she had passed on down the sidewalk, I turned to look around the studio to try to see what she would have seen. This area was essentially empty; it was where the martial arts students and clients worked out. The floor was almost completely covered by two-inch thick rubber mats and had punching bags in the far corner. Behind the counter was a hallway that led to the locker rooms. Then the stairs up to the weight and equipment rooms, the main office and the large storage room I borrowed to sleep in, letting Rey think I was all but destitute. The club offered a full-service gym and fitness center, so the clients could get a full workout without having to join multiple clubs. It looked practical for what it was, and not fancied up to attract any clients who were not really serious about working out.

_When William called to tell me that Billy had been abducted, my first thought was of a traditional kidnapping - with ransom demands. Then he told me he had been taken by Alvar Montoya, Billy's biological father, which triggered a remembered anger in me. That would take a different approach. I was confident that Montoya would not want to put up a legal fight for his son. He made his living as a drug distributor, and would end up in jail for his crimes if he were caught. But he was basically an amateur and had no reputation for real violence, so I didn't think a full-fledged team would be required. I decided to try to locate Billy and just steal him back. William and I both assumed Montoya would keep his son close. _

_I tracked Montoya to the Ft. Lauderdale area, where it appeared he was recruiting middle school kids to sell his drugs in the schools and local playgrounds. Having lost friends and relatives to pushers such as Montoya - and having narrowly escaped from that life myself - I took personal offense to him and his methods, and I still had an intense dislike of him from Mariel. I had him under surveillance for a week when it became apparent he had "made" me. I had realized that he had a small army of men and kids in his entourage. Although I should have called for reinforcements myself at that point, I thought I'd retreat and lay low for a while, then regroup. I decided I should be able to "hide" with my Abuela Talise's folks on the Miccosukee Village in the Everglades. _

_My grandfather, Ernesto Sanchez, had come to Miami from Cuba in the late '30s at age 17. He'd finished his education in Cuba, so was intent on finding work upon arrival in the States. When he found nothing suitable in Miami, he heard of some construction work building the Tamiami Trail. He got a job with the construction crew, most of whom were from the Miccosukee Village. Through them he met Talise, who soon became his wife. Talise and Ernesto had one child before she died in childbirth. The child was my mother Maria. Talise had the darker complexion that I inherited, darker than the typical Cuban-American coloring. After Talise died, Ernesto married Arcelia, a young girl of Cuban origin, who bore him three sons and three daughters, including Ella, my Trenton housekeeper, and Consuela, Lester's mother._

_When my parents sent me to Miami at age 15 to keep me away from my gang friends, I lived with my Mañoso grandparents, but spent some time with Abuelo Ernesto and Abuela Arcelia. Obviously, I never met Abuela Talise, but Abuelo Ernesto would take me to the Miccosukee Village to get to know her family. I felt like I blended more with them than with my Cuban relatives, and over the years have maintained contact with them. I felt safe on the Village staying with my relatives. Since blending was very important in "hiding" from Montoya, I thought the Village would allow me to lay low for as long as I needed to before bringing in my team._

_Unfortunately, word of my presence in the Village made it back to Montoya's contacts in Miami. I assumed it was through the Miccosukee Police, who probably had seen some BOLO (be on lookout for) inquiry from the Miami police who likely had someone on Montoya's payroll searching for me, based on my car registration. I guessed they had gotten that in Ft. Lauderdale when they spotted me. In my second week there, Miami-Dade Police officers showed up at the Village. They were accompanied by two of Montoya's lieutenants posing as some sort of law enforcement agents, who forced me into their car and headed west from the Village toward Naples. _

_They stopped at a cheap, dirty motel in Everglades City, and there we stayed for almost two months. These men weren't Montoya's best. Most of the time one or the other of them was drunk or high; food was not a priority for them so for the time I was held by them, I ate relatively little. They kept me cuffed to the bed I was using. I was uncuffed three times a day for "bathroom breaks," but only allowed a shower once a week. Any kind of exercise was almost impossible due to the constant cuffs. So I sat back and watched my lazy captors get drunk or high. Breaking out of the cuffs would have been easier if I had anything that could be used as a key or pick. Overpowering them at any time would have been chancy, since one always had a gun trained on me, usually with shaky hands. Seemed Montoya wanted me alive, but was in no hurry to bring me in. He had no idea who I was or what I wanted. Being a professional paranoid, he knew I had been watching him, and that was all he needed to know._

_One night, while I was in the shower I heard some commotion in the room that then went deadly quiet. When I knocked on the wall to let them know I was ready to come out, no one responded. I kicked open the door and saw my "cousin" William Panther, a Miccosukee Police Officer, standing in the room looking at the bodies of the two lame-brained guards. _

_"Such a shame" he said "they both OD'd. Of course both were very drunk to begin with". _

_"They each an IQ of room temperature", I said, "I just never saw a decent break to get away given the cuffs and with that shaking gun always trained on me but never within reach."_

_William had spent some time to figure out that the Miami Dade inquiry and 'warrant' was bogus, and decided that my "custody" was not a legitimate law enforcement operation. He called in some favors of his own to locate us in Everglades City. He watched for a week, noting their pattern, figured out when they left me in the bathroom alone, then got into the room. He suggested that I needed to call the Collier County Sheriff, but he would be gone before they arrived, and suggested that I should be as well. _

_He handed me my wallet and said, "It has $1,500 cash, your driver's license and weapons permits. But I removed the Credit Cards; you don't want to use them anyway. I brought a duffel bag with the stuff you left when they picked you up. You need to continue to lay low for another couple of months until these deaths have been ruled accidental ODs and closed." He pointed to a Harley Softail parked in the lot that he'd bought for me. Luckily, my driver's license already had a motorcycle endorsement. He said my Navigator had been returned to Rangeman Miami. "Do you want me to contact anyone?"_

_"No," I said. "My prints will be found in the room. My Government handler will be notified; they will call my team back in Trenton. That will be time enough for me to get to where I'm going. Thanks, William, for your help. If they come back to the Village to cause problems, call Rangeman Miami."_

_Since I hadn't shaved since arriving in Florida, I had the start of a decent mustache and beard. I decided to keep them and add to my lay low 'disguise.'_

I added dreadlock extensions while passing through Naples, which with the mustache and short beard resulted in a ferocious look even with my weight loss and somewhat reduced physical strength. I resumed my physical training to regain muscle and strength. I proved I could still hold my own with just about anyone when sparring. My skills were only slightly rusty, I had lost some speed, bulk and stamina, but I was confident I'd be fully recovered before too long.

I also looked at myself in the mirrored walls that covered the back and south side of this floor of the Club. Mid-30s, 6', 220 pounds of hard muscle. My ethnic heritage was evident in my skin color, dark hair and dark brown eyes. The delicate features of my youth had sharpened and toughened as I aged. Funny how combat can toughen a man's countenance.

Some folks found me physically intimidating, which, in my line of work, was typically helpful. Just don't look into my eyes. They too often betray me these days.

Standing In The Shadows Of Love

_By Janis Ian_

I used to have such a mean reputation  
I was cold and cruel  
When I walked into a new situation  
I knew just what to do  
I thought this world was full of fools  
except for me, who could play it cool  
I played so cold, I almost froze  
until I met you

I've been standing in the shadows of love  
Hiding from the sun up above  
Wondering if my heart  
would ever feel the spark  
and say - I've finally had enough  
I've been standing in the shadows  
Standing in the shadows  
Standing in the shadows of love


	6. Chapter 6 - The Reunion

**Chapter 6 – The Reunion**

When I talked to Tank yesterday I confirmed that I had indeed found Ranger – no doubts. I assured him that I had not been followed, so hadn't led anyone else to Ranger. Mostly I needed to get a fix on how to proceed. If Ranger was tracking Montoya, I didn't want to disrupt his efforts, nor did I want to get caught in the crossfire. But I didn't want to leave without talking to him. Hell, I didn't want to leave here without him. Tank encouraged me to try to talk to Ranger today if I could.

Given Ranger's distance over the past few months, I wasn't sure how he would react to seeing me. I was sure that he had felt my presence on the beach, but I wasn't sure why he chose to ignore it.

I understood why he felt he had to stay away from me after I'd started full-time at Rangeman. He wanted me to make it on my own and not "as Ranger's woman." He knew if we had any sort of relationship going that I'd try to get out of some of the more difficult training or at least seek sympathy from him, which would have undermined the efforts of those assigned as trainers. I understood, but still I didn't have to like it.

I had devoted countless hours to coming up with other reasons, and getting angry about them. After months of this, I had myself convinced that he had grown tired of his mentor/protector role, and finally, being assured I was safe and working with a Rangeman partner, he could shed himself of his responsibility for me, and crawl back into his "don't do relationships" isolation mode. He was mostly successful at that, but I knew that Tank gave him a hard time about it. Tank didn't just have Ranger's back in times of trouble, but worried about him much as an older brother would.

I dressed in my 'undercover' uniform, anything but all black. Jeans, t-shirt, running shoes and windbreaker. I walked past Rey's window and saw Ranger working at the heavy bag in the back, shirtless again, with muscles bunching and stretching with each hit. He was standing with his back mostly toward the door, which in Ranger's rules is another no-no; who was this man who has ignored all his own rules? I didn't see any other clients on the floor. So, I opened the door and walked in.

There were no dings or other alerts that someone had come through the door, but before I got three steps inside, Ranger stopped punching and stretched a bit. Without turning, he held out his right hand to me.

"Babe," he said in his deep voice, now full of both questions and relief. He turned his head toward me and I could see that his brown eyes were wary, his face appeared as blank as ever to someone who knew him less well than I. I saw the strain and weariness around his eyes and mouth. He hadn't called me Babe since I started working for him. Did that signal any change of heart or just that he welcomed a familiar face?

I walked over and took his hand in both of mine. I forgot all about the distance he had built between us – it no longer scared me. I put his palm against my cheek. "Ranger" is all I managed to say without choking up. This man had been my best friend for years and whether he wanted it or not, he still held a claim on my crushed, confused heart. He ran his thumb across my cheek then slid his hand around to the back of my neck and pulled me to him, resting his chin on the top of my head. He was sweaty and hot, he still smelled like Ranger – sweat but with a hint of Bvlgari – and he felt wonderful in my arms as I hugged him tightly to me and tried to not cry for the sheer joy of finding him apparently unharmed.

"Babe, being here could be dangerous for you. You need to go home." No, no! Of course I won't. I tried to pull away, but he continued to hold me tightly. Swallowing my emotions, I steeled my voice.

"Listen boss." That got a sharp look from him. "I came all this way by myself and searched for you for almost two months. What dozens of Miami Rangemen didn't do, I did. I am not about to walk away and leave you to face this by yourself. I'm not leaving your side until we are both safely back in Trenton.

I may not have years of covering you in combat zones, but the team has been training me. I know it hasn't been that long, and I have a long way to go to be the kind of help you really need. I wish you would call Tank or Lester here to help you, but if you won't let them come, let me help in whatever way I can." I could see he still wasn't convinced.

"Besides, Carlos, I promised Leotie and 'Chita I'd help you bring Billy home to them, and I think William would agree that you need my help." That grabbed his attention.

"You met them?" he asked, raising his one eyebrow in a look that was even more wary than before, hinting at a potential for becoming angry.

"The file Tank gave me to review had William's address. I went to see him. William said he had gotten calls from Rangeman, but I was the only one who bothered to drive out to ask in person and he already knew my name, so he felt I deserved a more thorough answer than he had given anyone else. He took me to Leotie's house. 'Chita and the little ones were there. They filled me in on the history, and gave me some photos of Billy, among others."

"So," with a barely concealed sigh, he continued, "You understand why this is personal for me?"

Of course I understood why this was personal. It was family, and a child. I'd helped him when Julie was kidnapped, and he'd turned to me for help when those kids were trying to ruin his business. I knew I didn't need to remind him of either case, so I just nodded.

I could tell from the clenched muscle in his jaw that he didn't want me staying, but now his eyes had softened somewhat, and his still tight hold on me, fastening me against his warm, solid body, told me he didn't want me to leave, either. I could work with this.

"Babe, you hid from me yesterday on the beach. Then refused to acknowledge me when you came by in the afternoon. Why?"

"Tank and I had a plan I had sworn to stick to. Yesterday afternoon, I was just supposed to confirm your location then report back in. I was under orders to not approach you until given the go-ahead by Tank. Besides, yesterday morning you just gave up and walked away. I thought maybe you didn't want to talk to me."

"I was afraid that you wouldn't talk to me." His voice was as steady and emotionless as ever, but when I leaned back and looked into his eyes I was surprised. The veil had dropped. I saw a hint of vulnerability that looked foreign in Ranger's eyes and belied his voice.

"I'd never shun you nor turn away when you need me, no matter how angry I may be. And I have every right to be angry."

And of course that is the moment my stomach decided to remind me that it had been a long time since breakfast. Ranger raised his eyebrow and slipped his arm down around my waist and tugged me toward the counter.

When we got to the counter, he reached underneath and pulled out a red tank top with Rey's logo on the front. He slipped it over his head, tugged it down, grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the door.

As it turns out, the pizza place also served pressed Cuban sandwiches, so we ordered two and some water and carried them over to the beach to eat and talk. Good, but I'd rather have had a meatball sub.

After finishing his sandwich, Ranger lay back on the sand and ignoring our previous conversation began to fill me in on what had happened. I interrupted once, "How did Montoya's men figure out you were there? Stealth is your specialty, so how were you spotted and tracked?"

Ranger put on a scowl that morphed into a small smile. "You would pick up on that, wouldn't you? Basically, I have been off my game for months and fucked up. I underestimated him. I thought I had identified all of his incompetent trackers; they were rank amateurs and easily spotted. Turns out they were decoys; Montoya had another man who was better, who stayed back and was the one who spotted me. It was careless of me to not realize it was a trap. Luckily, they weren't inclined to kill me."

"So, you're out here breaking your own cardinal rules, and getting yourself captured by your target. You most certainly need back-up, boss." Sharp look from Ranger once again, he hated me calling him boss. "My skills at counter-surveillance are better than they used to be, but you might need someone better. If Montoya thinks you are still pursuing him, he may come after you again. Yes, you were careless and you don't seem to have eyes in the back of your head anymore."

With a dismissive grunt, Ranger picked up the story again. Then he stopped, looked at me and asked me to tell him how I had found him. When I finished, Ranger had an almost smile and said, "Babe, I think you just told me how you can help me. I haven't been able to locate Montoya, if he is in the Tampa area. My resources here have been searching, but to no effect. I think you could make more progress than they have. Will you help me with that?"

I was lying on the sand next to Ranger. I hadn't really studied his "new" look. His mustache was a bit too long, and threatened to hide his almost smile. The beard needed shaping and the dreads - what could I say about those? They were worthy of a Rastafarian prince, and definitely not a "Ranger" look. Even so, stretched out on the sugar-white sand, arms folded behind his head with that mocha latte skin and those melted chocolate eyes, he was too beautiful for his own good – or mine. I felt my heart lurch in defiance of the distance that had been forced upon us over the last few months, and my actual desire to be angry at him. He had not insisted on me leaving and had actually requested my help. Not as assignment from a boss to an employee – as he might have done a few months ago – but a nicely worded request.

"I'll do whatever I can to help. I have my Rangeman laptop with me."

He wanted to keep this out of the Rangeman system for now, so we wouldn't be invaded by a swarm of Rangemen unless and until we were ready for them. He wanted me to contact his resource, a local security company that had worked with Rangeman in the past and had been trying to locate Montoya for him, and see if they could set me up to use their systems. If the security company had tools as good as Rangeman, I should be able to find where Montoya was staying and where he hung out.

Sensing that we were through with this topic for today, I sat up and asked Ranger if he'd explored any of the beach communities south of here. He admitted that he had not and suggested that we do so, and find someplace for dinner while we were out. I told him I'd go change into something that might blend in a little better as it was a bit too warm for the cargoes, and I was anxious to put on shorts. He suggested I might be more comfortable in jeans and asked me to meet him at Rey's in half an hour.

I showered and changed into a comfortable pair of faded jeans, t-shirt and kept my windbreaker and holstered gun, of course, then headed over to Rey's. I got there a few minutes early, to see Ranger and Rey talking in front of a very kick-ass Harley. Rey stood with the splay-armed stance of a serious body builder.

Rey walked over to me as I came up. He was as tall as Ranger, same hard muscles everywhere, a complexion that was slightly darker than Ranger's and with very short hair. He walked over with his hand outstretched. "Glad to finally meet you, Steph. I've heard a lot about you." That had Ranger raising his eyebrow.

"Hi, Rey. Great business you have here. But, whatever you've heard is all lies. I didn't burn down the funeral home."

"What about all of Carlos's cars?" Now Ranger was interested. He seemed to think Rey still didn't know who he was, even after I'd told him how I found him to begin with.

"That's old news. I haven't lost a car in the last 18 months."

Rey looked over at Ranger who had walked up behind me, and said to him, "I didn't realize who you were until Lester called me. Made me feel foolish for not recognizing my own cousin! But I decided there had to be a good reason for you not mentioning it, either. If there is anything I can do to help on this mission, please include me."

"I'll fill you in on all the details later." Ranger reached over and they did one of those complicated handshakes that included everything but shaking hands. "We may need your help."

Ranger led me over to the big copper and black Harley Softail Classic, with lots of leather, including black leather saddlebags with silver nailhead trim.

"Fits with your new look! When did you pick it up?" I asked while running my hands over the gleaming bike. I looked up at Ranger who had a very familiar dark glow in his already dark eyes.

"William bought it for my 'get-away'."

He handed me a helmet. I twisted my hair up with a flat clip and slid the helmet on. It fit perfectly. He opened a saddlebag and placed his holstered gun inside, then held out a hand to me. I reached behind and unclipped my holster, and handed him my gun to store with his. Out of habit he checked to see if I actually had bullets in it. I did, of course!

I watch as Ranger fitted his helmet over that mass of dreadlocks, still mostly hanging down his back. I was imagining what a tangled mess it would be after a few minutes out on the bike. He had on faded jeans, a red Henley, and a lightweight leather jacket. He loosened his jacket and slipped the bulk of the dreadlocks down the back of his jacket then snapped it back up, and I realized that if I had first seen him this way, I would never have recognized him. I guess that was the whole point, huh? He climbed onto the bike, kicked up the kickstand, and held it for me to slide in behind him.

I held onto his shoulders as I slung my leg over the buddy seat and settled in tight behind him, wrapping my arms around his middle and securing my feet on the footboards. He laid his arm over mine briefly and squeezed my hand. Then he hit the starter. The big engine grumbled to life sending the vibrations throughout my body, evoking a brief shudder. Ranger, of course, picked up on that, chuckled and squeezed my hand again. "Ready?" he asked just barely audible above the growling engines. "Damn Skippy! Let's go!"

We set off south to Gulfview Boulevard, then over the Clearwater Pass Bridge, giving me a great view of the Gulf on my right, and Clearwater Harbor on my left. Both had a variety of boats bobbing around on the mostly still water. After a couple of miles of luxury hotels and condos, we hit an area of beachfront mini-mansions, all with high security gates and multi-car garages. Some were Tuscan wannabes, a bit out of place on the beach, in my opinion, but a couple were beautiful Key West style – metal roofs with clapboard siding and lots of windows – my idea of a beachhouse. My favorite was a seafoam green with white trim. We rode for 30 minutes back down the road I had driven north just two days before. We continued south past a HUGE pink hotel – The Don CeSar, and into what the signs referred to as "Historic" Pass-a-Grille.

We rode over to the beachfront drive, and parked the bike, leaving our helmets, but retrieving our guns. We were right in front of an older three-story building with a large rooftop deck. It was "The Hurricane" restaurant. We got off the bike and decided to walk around for a while. It was too early for dinner.

Ranger may not have explored around here, but as usual, he knew the history and filled me in on some of it. "The Don" or "Pink Lady" had been a favorite of the rich and well-connected after it was built in 1928. At the start of WWII it was purchased as a military convalescent center and then it became a Veteran's Administration Regional office. It was sold in 1975 and reopened as a hotel. It was now one of the premier hotels and beach resorts on Florida's west coast. Apparently, "The Hurricane" was once part of a hotel, dating back to 1912, but after the bulk of the hotel was torn down, this one building was converted to a restaurant. Oddly, the history lesson had me looking at the building differently. What first appeared as a time-worn building in need of more upkeep became a beautiful reminder of the luxury of turn-of-the century (last century) hotels and homes.

Not only did Ranger always learn something about the area he was in, but he made an effort to make sure I learned some of it as well. That used to irritate me, but I decided it was because he wanted to share with me some of what he found interesting outside of just work.

The entire business district was about two square blocks of unique shops and galleries. When we finished exploring we were across the street from The Paradise Sweet Shop. Without saying anything Range wrapped his arm around me and led me in. I got a sugar cone, triple scoop – chocolate, chocolate mint and espresso, Ranger got a cup – single scoop vanilla, of course. We walked over the boardwalk bridge to the beach, kicked off our shoes and walked in the warm sand for a while.

So far this man had been so different from the Ranger I had worked for in Trenton; I was beginning to think I had the wrong man. Then he leaned over and licked some ice cream off my chin and off my lips, then left a light kiss that sent a thick fog straight to my brain and a lightning bolt down my spine. This was definitely the right man, just a little off-kilter; "boss" Ranger had disappeared. This was much more like my old best friend and I realized how very much I had missed my friend.

Dusk was approaching, so we made our way toward the roof deck of The Hurricane to watch the sunset. On the way up, we stopped and made reservations for dinner in the Level 2 restaurant – outdoor deck table. On the roof deck we found a table with an unobstructed view of the Gulf and Ranger ordered two Mojitos. Leaving coasters to mark our table, we took our drinks over to the back rail to watch some sailboats maneuver in the Intracoastal channel hoping to reach their slips before dark. Ranger stepped up behind me and pulled me tight against him. The air was cooling off and his warmth felt good, in more ways than one.

The clear sky to the east displayed stacked ribbons of blue, orchid and lavender resting on the horizon. Once the boats were safely moored in the marina, we turned to watch the huge golden disc slide toward the watery purple horizon. Very thin clouds caught the light and reflected back lemon yellows and brilliant oranges as the sun slowly sank into the water leaving streaks of deep purple on the highest clouds. As the top of the sun disappeared, the crowd on the deck broke out into applause. While he nuzzled my ear, Ranger explained the sunset tradition started in Key West, and enjoyed elsewhere in Florida – a celebration and 'thank you' for another beautiful day.

After a dinner of fresh grilled fish – did I mention that Ranger eats healthy stuff? – we got back to the bike and Ranger pulled our jackets out of the saddlebags; it had cooled off significantly after the sun set. Once again, when I wrapped my arms around him, Ranger draped his arm atop mine and squeezed my hand. This time when the engine started I managed to suppress the shudder. Ranger chuckled anyway.

As we headed north, the wind whipped Ranger's dreads around my head; I kept my face pretty much pressed into the back of his helmet, wishing I had secured those things with a rubber band, or stuffed them down the back of his jacket. I wondered how one gets tangles out of dreads, or is the idea to just leave them as is? I'd ask later.


	7. Chapter 7 - Temptation

**Chapter 7 - Temptation**

Even though it was barely more than two well-lit and relatively busy blocks away, Ranger walked me back to the hotel. He took my key card and opened the door, stepping in to hold the door for me. "You don't have to check the rooms for bad guys – it's a 4-star hotel, and one that Rangeman selected as a potential safe house." He still glanced around the rooms briefly, leaned in and gave me a warm kiss and turned to leave.

"Wait, Ranger, this suite has two bedrooms, you can stay here if you want. It's more comfortable and has a nicer shower than Rey's locker room."

"I need to get my stuff," he murmured starting to turn.

"No, Ella packed a bag for you. She was sure I'd find you. I'll get it." I headed for my bedroom and he followed. I went to the closet and pulled out a mid-sized black roll-on bag. Instead of taking the bag, Ranger reached for me and pulled me close, then backed toward the bed. Although my body screamed "YES," my head and heart were less enthusiastic.

"Ranger, I still trust you with my life, but not my heart. I tried that and you decided to shut me out. For the last 12 months you worked hard to be nothing more to me than my employer, and I accepted that, not graciously or willingly, but I made an effort to understand why you did it. It hurt like hell, and I managed to convince myself that you were happy to finally be free of the responsibility for Stephanie Plum. You knew I had a secure job, was safe, and had capable back-up in case of trouble. You were free to return to your old 'all alone' lifestyle without worrying about me. I accepted that, too, and decided that having you for a 'boss' might be the only sort of relationship we would ever have. Then today, you were more like my old 'best friend' Ranger, and I was confused. I do know that I'm not ready to jump back into bed with you. 'Lover' Ranger is a different situation, and I'm not ready to take that risk again. Let's just stay with the 'best friends' for now. I realized today that I've missed my friend most of all."

"Is it Joe? Is he back in your life now?" His blank face had shuttered into place. Being rebuffed by me was something Ranger was used to when I was "on" with Joe. However, when things with Joe were "off," rebuffing him was the last thing on my mind. , Although guilt usually stopped things from progressing too far. Usually.

"Joe closed that door for good when I went to work for you full time. Actually, I found out later that while he was being angry with me for taking the job, his very pregnant side-piece was planning their wedding. So no, I haven't talked to him in the last year. And before you ask, there has been no one else either. This is just me, Ranger, trying to protect myself from another heartbreak."

He pulled me tight against him, kissed my hair, and my ear, then said in an almost whisper, "I didn't intend to hurt you. It was the only way I knew to give you the space you needed to work into the team. I may have found a different way if I had known I would lose you." He kissed my neck, then my lips, warmly, then with a bit more heat. He pulled away, took the bag and headed to the other bedroom. As he walked out he turned, "Will you run with me in the morning?"

"Sure, just wake me up and order room service coffee." Watching him walk out of the bedroom was harder than I would have imagined, but knowing he was down the hall, and that I'd see him in the morning was a bit of a consolation.

I awoke to the wonderful aroma of hazelnut coffee under my nose. I reached for it with my eyes still closed and it went away. Darn. I opened one eye to see Ranger sitting on the edge of the bed with two coffee cups, and to see it was still very dark outside. 05:14 beamed my bedside clock. Ok, must be time to move. I struggled to sit up in bed so I could take the coffee. When I finally made it, Ranger turned to sit next to me, with our backs against the headboard and legs stretched out on the bed. We clinked our cups and I said, "Seems like old times." Ranger leaned over and kissed my forehead. He was already dressed for our run. I tried to not chug the hot coffee, but I needed the whole cup before I could get up and move at this hour.

I was used to October being blustery and cold in New Jersey; yesterday it was still warm here, but this morning was a different story. A heavy overcast sky threatened a veiled sunrise and possible rain. The front that had moved in now formed a dense fog. Running on the beach in a fog is a bit disconcerting but peaceful, especially since Ranger does not talk when he is running. Ten miles later we were both soaked with sweat and ready for a shower. I was deservedly proud of almost keeping up with Ranger, even though he had slowed several times for me to catch up with him. I knew I'd never pass the Army Ranger 15-mile ruck run and didn't even care to pretend that I wanted to. I did my best, which means that today was the best Ranger had ever seen. It was rare for me to do even five miles with him in the past, and even then I'd fall desperately far behind.

So, sweat-soaked as we were, and I was still gasping to catch my breath, Ranger pulled me into a tight embrace and whispered into my ear, "Proud of you, Babe." I think under the flush of the physical exertion, I beamed. I leaned up and kissed him lightly and said, "Thanks. Get me more coffee and a Boston Crème."

After showering and dressing for the day, we ate our room service breakfast, which included my donut. We discussed how we might proceed to find and flush out Montoya, and get to Billy.

Part of our plan was to draw Montoya out, so we would spend a couple of days each week sightseeing in areas we thought he might show. We wanted to determine if he had a pattern and monitor him for a while to see if he had Billy with him.

Even though he didn't expect Montoya to recognize him, he thought Montoya would get suspicious of the same strangers turning up around him frequently, and take some action - as he had done in Fort Lauderdale. We had no intention of taking Montoya down, or even approaching him to question him, we just wanted him to lead us to Billy. If he came after us, we had a plan to deal with him. Ranger said Montoya's family lived in the large Cuban community over in Tampa near Ybor City. He expected that Montoya would hang out in the Ybor area restaurants and cigar bars, so we'd start there.

Ranger took this as an opportunity to educate me on some history of Cubans in Florida and Cuban culture, so we made frequent trips to the historic Columbia Cuban Restaurant in Ybor and visited museums and other sites, such as the Cuban Club and Jose Marti Park.

Ranger knew that his Abuelo Raul had worked as a Lector in a cigar factory when he first came to the US, so we took a tour of the old Ybor Cigar Factory. We listened as the docent described the history, including the role of the Lector, and the respect the workers had for him. In fact, the factory workers paid the Lector's salary through contributions, the more popular the Lector, the more he made. El Lector, or The Reader, kept the workers' attention focused as they worked by reading out loud to them from books, magazines and newspapers as requested by the factory workers. Abuelo Raul did quite well and was able to raise his family comfortably on his earnings. Abuela Rosa made lace both in Cuba and in the United States. Many lace makers settled in Union, New Jersey, which is how the Mañosos found their way from Key West to New Jersey as the cigar industry in Key West mechanized, eliminating cigar rollers and Lectors. Rosa became the primary breadwinner while Raul looked for a new career.

I bought a couple of classic Cuban jazz CDs for Ranger that provided appropriate background for both the history lessons and a few dance lessons thrown in. I was surprised by how much Ranger liked to dance. The dance classes I had taken as a teenager helped, but Ranger wanted to show me the Cuban style of dancing. This made me grateful for the training Tank and the Merry Men had put me through, as my strength and stamina were almost enough to keep up with Ranger as we danced. I would never have known the Cuban Salsa could be so physically demanding. All Cuban dances emphasize the hips – the more movement the better. Huh, as Lula would say; I could attest to the fact that Ranger's hips worked exceptionally well.

We had no real commitments other than finding and drawing out Montoya and preparing for him. I went to Apollo Security to use their search applications. I was able to track some of Montoya's movement around the area. He actually didn't venture too far from the Ybor area. Ranger continued to do personal training and teach some martial arts classes at Rey's.

He also continued working with me on Combatives self-defense techniques, which are the bare essentials, easy to recall and easy to execute under duress. And we spent time at the firing range. Ranger wanted me to learn Close Quarters Combat tactics with live fire. The idea of it scared me and I balked, but then I realized each time I'd actually been required to fire my gun had been a close quarters situation. Maybe I did need training, so I wouldn't panic and would be less likely to hit a friendly by accident.

We ate lunch on the beach on the days we were at Rey's, and became dinner regulars at the Columbia Restaurant on Sand Key, just five minutes down the beach. I was getting an immersion in Cuban culture, history and food. Too bad my Spanish wasn't improving as much, but I had made some progress there as well.

One night we had dinner at the Sand Pearl Resort on North Beach, and then walked behind the bar to sit around the fire pit on the beach. Ranger reached over and took my hand. He cast a fleeting glance at my face then looked out at the Gulf, which had medium breakers washing up onto the beach, and there was a fiery sunset in progress.

After a few minutes he squeezed my hand and said, "Thank you."

"For what?" I asked.

"For searching for me, finding me, and then sticking around to help."

"It was no more than what you would do for me. It was what I needed to do as a friend."

He just nodded and kept staring out toward the waves breaking on the beach, which were reflecting the hues of the sunset.

"You know I will always do whatever I can to help when you need it." I watched him for a minute more then I turned to watch the waves as well. More quietly, almost as if admitting something to myself I added, "I missed you when you were gone. I felt lost when you weren't around. I came because Tank sent me, but I stayed because I love you and I needed to be with you."

Ranger stood and pulled me up to him. He wrapped me in a hug so tight it almost took my breath away and buried his face in my hair.

He whispered into my hair, "Babe. No merezco tu amor. Pero lo aprecio. Eres mi luz y sanar mi alma. Te quiero mucho."* _*"Babe. I don't deserve your love. But I appreciate it. You are my light and you heal my soul. I love you. "_

He lifted my chin for a warm, deep kiss then wrapped his arm around me, tucking me tight to his side. We found our way down to the water's edge and then walked barefoot in the wet sand back to the hotel. I may not be fluent in Spanish, but some words I do know. And this time I desperately wanted to believe he meant it.

The next week proceeded the same way. Ranger would wake me with hot coffee at the ungodly hour he preferred to run, we'd do our ten miles in about an hour and a half or so, then plan our day over breakfast. Despite our words, Ranger and I were taking time to get reacquainted and build emotional trust. Neither of us had stellar track records when it came to commitment; in fact, I think we were both seriously commitment-phobic. Not that we would even discuss the topic; but some level of commitment seemed to be the general direction we were stumbling in.

I spent three mornings a week at Apollo Security, using their systems to keep track of Montoya and trying to learn Billy's whereabouts. Montoya was not keeping a low profile, so he was easy to track, but I could find nothing about Billy. But an almost 16-year old doesn't leave a credit card trail, or much of any other trail. Besides, I wasn't sure what name he might be using right now. Would he be using Panther or Montoya?

Many times we had crossed paths with Montoya, and if he noticed us or suspected that we were doing so intentionally, he gave no indication. We never did see Billy with him. My search for traces of Billy went beyond just the Tampa Bay area. I covered all of Florida south of Gainesville to Key West, just in case. Still nothing.

In the third week, we got a phone call from William that Billy had been picked up for possession with intent to sell or deliver in Ft. Lauderdale. He and Conchita had been called to bail him out. This was a very serious felony offense in Florida, and could draw up to 15 years in prison. So Billy had not been with Montoya in Tampa, but he had been pulled into Montoya's organization and sent out to carry on the business. But at least for now he was home with his parents awaiting trial and sentencing. The hope was he would be charged as a juvenile, as this was his first offense with extenuating circumstances. The juvenile justice system was something Ranger was familiar with. It troubled him that he had been unable to find Billy in time to stop this.

That week I was aware that Ranger would come into my bedroom in the middle of the night and sit in the chair and watch me sleep. I knew he was disturbed about Billy and angry that we had been unable to help him. I kept still and let him sit and think. Finally, on Friday night I decided to speak to him.

"Can't sleep, again?" No response. "Ranger, you've been on missions that couldn't be completed because of lack of credible intelligence. Your sources thought Billy was in Tampa with Montoya. Our very extensive searches could find no traces of Billy anywhere, he created no trail. You had no reason to suspect he wasn't in Tampa, or any idea how to find him if we had gone, or had your guys go, to Ft. Lauderdale to look for him. What could you have done differently?" With that, I turned and pulled down the sheet and comforter next to me and patted the bed. "Come on, you need to try to get some sleep."

As he walked over to the bed, I noticed that he wore only a short black silk robe. When he hesitated beside the bed, I motioned for him to just get in. It wasn't as if a pair of boxers, even black silk boxers would provide any barrier.

When he lay down he pulled me to him, my back to his front, and as I snuggled in we both sighed, then fell asleep.

When I woke up, it wasn't to hot coffee, but to hot kisses on my neck and my breasts being gently kneaded by warm callused hands, sending tremors through me. And even in the dark I knew that somehow during the three hours that I slept, my t-shirt and boy-shorts had magically disappeared. Ranger must have decided that the "just friends" status wasn't working for him anymore. Did I trust him with my heart now any more than I did three weeks ago? Not at all, but at the moment I no longer cared. All that mattered was that I wanted him as much as he wanted me. I'd deal with the consequences later.

Afterward, with the high sun streaming through the patio doors, I realized we had missed breakfast and ran a risk of missing lunch if we didn't move soon, but moving would be difficult as tangled as we were. Also Ranger was sleeping, which was good since he had had so little sleep in the previous days. I told myself I needed to talk to Ranger about where we go from here. I didn't want to go back to the "Boss Ranger" mode; I couldn't stand that. The last three weeks had been amazing, and now my world teetered on the edge of absolutely perfect. I didn't know how to hang onto it or if it was even within my power to do so. The fact that I was giving Ranger the power to destroy my heart again scared me. I still didn't trust him not to hurt me. And I now realized that I had the power to hurt him, too, and that scared me even more. Then just before a full-fledged panic could set in, I closed my eyes and drifted off again.

The next time I woke it was to a cup of hot coffee - and the afternoon sun slanting in the window. I looked up at Ranger, sitting on the bed dressed in ripped jeans and a very old, faded Army t-shirt which was straining against his chest and biceps, and he was holding the coffee under my nose. I ran my hand down his face, "You look rested and almost relaxed." He had shaved off his beard and mustache, showing off his perfectly sculpted face. The dreads were even more tangled and fuzzed than before. I took a handful of the dreads and said, "These will have to go. They don't go with the clean-shaven look. And the disguise isn't needed anymore, right?"

"I always look relaxed," he breathed into my ear, then gave me one of his rare dazzling smiles and a light kiss. "Truthfully, I haven't felt this centered in months." He lifted a handful of the dreadlocks and grimaced. "Can you take the dreads out without shaving the hair off?"

"I've helped Lula remove extensions, so I can give it a try. We'll save the shaving as a last resort. This will take a while, so grab some drinks for us." I went into my bathroom and grabbed my heavy duty conditioner, scissors and a big comb.

I sat on the edge of the bed, and had Ranger sit on the floor between my legs. As he held his water bottle, I told him to get comfortable. We'd be here for a few hours. Then I started going over his hair. "Good! You haven't used any wax on these." His hair had not been very long when he had the extensions added; the natural hair was quite a bit longer now. I offered to just cut the extensions off. But Ranger wanted his hair to be as long as possible. So, the extensions would stay, it was just the dreads that had to go. Add a couple more hours to the total time. I grabbed one twist of hair, rubbed in conditioner and started combing the tangles out. Twenty minutes later I was done with the first one. When I finished hours later, the hair was in reasonable condition with just a trim of the ends, and it hung to the top of his shoulder blades.

Now for the shampoo and massage of the tender scalp. Of course, Ranger insisted on reminding me how good he is in the shower.

Oh yeah, still good. Not that I had harbored any doubts at all.

Through the patio doors, I could hear and see the fireworks exploding over the pier, as they did every Saturday night. I fell asleep watching the fireworks light up the black velvet sky while basking in the afterglow of the fireworks we had ignited.

I rolled over when I felt a nudge on my shoulder. Ranger was sitting on the bed with a bit of a scowl on his face. "Come on, Babe. We need to get going."

"Going? Time for our run?" A quick glance at my clock showed it was already mid-morning. The scowl had me worried; was he having second thoughts?

"No. We're heading to South Florida. William is expecting us tonight."

"That's what? A six-hour drive? We need to get packed."

"You just need to get dressed. I left out some stuff for you. The Navigator is already packed. You can toss anything else into the tote bag."

I took a quick shower and dressed in the clothes he had laid out for me. Of course he picked the sexiest underwear in the drawer and was not in here to enjoy it. Hair up in a high ponytail, I was ready to go.

I stepped into the living room to find Ranger eating a sandwich off the room service cart. It looked like he had mine in a Styrofoam to-go container. So I grabbed it and a Coke and stuffed them in my tote bag. Then I threw my laptop bag strap over my shoulder, picked up the tote bag, grabbed my purse and stepped toward the door. "Time's a'wasting!"

He grabbed a diet soda off the cart, and wrapped the rest of his sandwich in a napkin, and grabbed his jacket. He followed me to the door, where he pinned me to wall and proceeded to stun me with an earth-shattering kiss, which had me wondering why I had bothered to get dressed in the first place. After unwinding myself from his body and repairing my clothing, I retrieved my laptop, tote and purse from the floor where I had dropped them. We finally made it out the door, and any doubts I had stayed behind.

We got to the Navigator on the 4th floor of the parking garage, and Ranger beeped it open. Then he checked it over very carefully, opening the hood and looking inside, checking under the driver's seat and under the steering column. I guess the memory of my exploding cars wasn't that far away. He used the remote to start the car after we stepped back a bit. All was good, no explosions. Ranger opened my door for me, and made sure I was buckled in, and kissed my cheek before going around and getting into the driver's seat. I was half-way through my sandwich before we pulled out of the garage.

"Why is William in such a hurry for us to get there?"

"He said Montoya knows that Billy is with them, and is on his way."

"Do you know if Montoya has left Tampa yet?"

"Yes, Petra from Apollo called about two hours ago – woke me up – to tell me that Montoya had purchased gas in Ellenton night before last, then again in Naples yesterday, so he has a two-day lead on us. I thanked her for their help, told her we would be leaving town, and that you wouldn't be back in."

He had pulled up in front of Rey's. Rey came out, locked the front door and leaned into the driver's window of the Navigator. "Yo, cuz, Lester called and said you might need some back-up fire power. Sorry, Steph, but Lester thought the more guns we bring to this knife fight the better."

Well, he'd apparently been staying in touch with Lester, who had been updated by Tank. I had called Tank before I finished dressing, but Ranger had already talked to him. Pulling out of the parking lot, Ranger glanced back at Rey who was getting on the same bike we had ridden a few days ago. He called over to Rey, "We'll meet you at Leotie's."

This song spoke to me about this chapter.

**No One Else Like You**

_Janis Ian/Amanda Hunt Taylor_

I have spent a lifetime learning how to cry  
How to make the most of every sad goodbye  
I thought forever would never be mine  
and I'd be lonely till the end of time  
So baby, I'm amazed that it can feel like this  
From coffee in the morning to a goodnight kiss  
you're really making up for all the love I missed  
I put it all behind, 'cause I know you're mine  
Now that you are mine

There's no one else like you  
No one like you  
No one that's loved me the way you do  
Through all the darkness  
I've always known this  
one thing is true  
There's no one else like you


	8. Chapter 8 - Leotie's again

**Chapter 8 – Leotie's again**

It was getting late when we arrived at Leotie's. It was already dark and the sky was filled with glittering stars, something I was finally starting to get used to as a normal thing - outside of New Jersey.

Rey got there ahead of us. The bike was parked next to William's police car and they were standing by the car.

William walked over, opened my door and helped me out of the Navigator, ending with a brief welcoming hug. I was slightly disconcerted to have found them waiting, like Mom and Grandma at the front door in the Burg. "You have ESP?"

"Nah. I have look-outs watching the entrance to the highway. Guys rotating three on each shift, 'round the clock; guys from the village who want to help Billy. I know that Montoya has three people running around here tonight. They arrived in two cars about an hour ago. Don't worry, they aren't close to the houses right now; we know where they are. One of my guys saw the Navigator when you turned and he alerted me." He then showed us that he was equipped with a throat mic and ear bud for communicating. "You'll all be getting one of these later."

He walked around and pulled Ranger into a tight brotherly hug. They had a brief conversation, but I didn't understand anything they said – it wasn't Spanish, or English, or German. Ranger told me later it was "Mikasuki," the tribal language. The sheer range of his language skills intimidated me. I felt proud to have mastered English, and a smattering of Spanish.

The guys grabbed the bags from the car and headed up the steps into the house. Leotie met them just inside the door and fussed over her "Carlito," like he had been a truant child. She walked over to me and wrapped me in a hug almost as warm as she had given Ranger. I felt a little less fraudulent this time around, but it still bordered on overwhelming.

Leotie led us into the dining room, where dinner was laid out; apparently they had waited for us. I looked around then asked "Where are Yana and Mikie?"

"They have school tomorrow. They ate earlier and Chita is helping them get ready for bed now. She'll be down in a few minutes. I'm sure you are hungry after your long drive. Come, sit, eat!"

Over dinner, Carlos (I have to get use to calling him that here) was obliged to fill them in on what he had been doing since they last saw him before Montoya's men had picked him up. Conchita and Billy had come down just before we started eating, and the conversation shifted to Billy's ordeal and current status with the courts. Carlos told Billy he'd do all he could to ensure he didn't get thrown into the juvenile system. The first thing he'd do is hire a good lawyer for him, and release the Public Defender that had been assigned his case.

After dinner, Leotie told the guys to bring the bags upstairs; the rooms were ready. Carlos pulled me close and told Leotie, "We're together," then looked at me and said, "If that is ok with you." I just smiled at him and nodded, not a conversation to start in front of his relatives. Leotie smiled and told William to put our bags in the blue room.

Before settling in for the evening, Carlos wanted to take a quick patrol of the outside. He signaled Rey and William to join us, strapped on his utility belt, and handed me mine. We walked, all but soundlessly, up the crushed shell and old asphalt road to where Montoya's cars had been parked. They were now gone, as William's "lookouts" had just reported, and there was no sign of any of them staying behind. William and Rey peeled off to circle back along the west edge of this hammock.

Ranger led me along the roadway to the east side then along the edge of the channel until we reached one of the larger tiki hut structures, which he called a "chickee," the traditional shelters used by many of the Native American tribes. He pointed out that there were several types of chickees here, some for sleeping, some for cooking and the larger ones for eating. Leotie had wanted a more traditional home when she moved back to the Village, after living in Homestead for years and getting accustomed to more modern conveniences. The eating chickee we were sitting in commanded a grand view of the sawgrass and water spread before us. The crescent moon cast silver lights onto the water that glittered and quivered with the life moving atop and below the surface.

Night birds feasting on the insects were moving about languorously. It was a balmy evening and the insects they snacked on were plentiful. We'd hear an angry heron screech occasionally, and the croaking of frogs and chirping of insects added to the impressively loud chorus of the Everglades night. It was all a little creepy to me, a born and bred city girl – no sirens, no horns blaring, no neighbors yelling – barely what I'd consider civilization.

Ranger wrapped his arm around me, snuggling me closer as the evening got cooler. I had my face buried in his chest and mumbled, "Are we?" knowing that he would automatically know what I was referring to.

"What?" Ranger replied, "...together? You said you'd stay by my side until we returned to Trenton, so I'm taking you up on that. You're not going to back out on me, are you?"

I shook my head. What I really wanted to know was what would happen when we got back to Trenton. I desperately wanted to ask, but didn't want to antagonize him now. What I needed to know was whether we would be together or if I'd be just another employee again. Guess I wouldn't know until I found the right time to force the conversation. Tonight wasn't it; we'd reached an amicable place and I wanted to maintain it for as long as possible. Sounded like all was good, but Trenton was still an open question in my mind.

The activity of the night creatures was energetic; it should have been calming to just sit and listen to the serenade. Of course, I could only sit that still for a short while.

"Ranger, can I ask you something?" Raised eyebrow and slight nod. "What was it like for you, in Juvie?"

"I had just turned 14, but looked younger. In court, my hair was quite long, as my mother wished me to wear it to honor our heritage. But when I first arrived at Juvenile Detention they shaved it all off – standard procedure I guess, to make sure you don't bring in lice or anything. They allowed family visits once a month. The first time my mother saw my shaved head she broke down. Having to visit your youngest child in a Juvenile Detention center is nerve-racking, but to see him with a shaved head – she had been proud of my hair all of my life."

I could understand that. Ranger had the most luxurious, silky hair; I loved the feel of it. Maybe when it had grown out enough to remove the extensions, I could enjoy it again.

"Most of the boys were older than me and picked on me when they could get by with it. I got into several fights to fend off the worst of the bullies. I didn't actually win any of them; they were broken up pretty quickly. I started following the bigger boys into the gym to watch them exercise. I wanted to join them, get stronger so maybe I wouldn't be so vulnerable. I just hung out for a few weeks, doing the easy stuff, and finally the biggest black kid of the bunch came over and offered to show me the ropes. He liked that I was willing to fight the bigger boys, and thought I deserved some back-up. He helped me get started on the weights, and sort of had my back from then on."

"Any chance I know that kid?"

"Well, he isn't really much of a kid anymore; he's more of a tank."

Oh, wow! I knew Ranger and Tank had been best friends in the Army, but I didn't know it went back that far. No wonder they were so protective of each other.

"How bad was it for you there?"

"With Tank on my six – yeah, he was already called Tank – it wasn't as bad as it could have been. They made us continue with our school work, and that was good. I had always been a lazy student; the classes were easy for me and I'd get bored and goof off and get Cs. In Juvie, the tutors moved you at your fastest pace, so they placed me in the older groups, and when I came out, I was ahead of my class in the public school. My Juvie tutors actually taught me how to study and enjoy learning again. Tank pushed me to step up my exercise and weight training, he also coached me in wrestling; he had been on his school's wrestling team. When I got back into public school I had put on 20 pounds. I joined the track team, ROTC, and tried out for the wrestling team. I guess it's fair to say Juvie was a transformative experience for me. Even so, I would have preferred to have been home with my family. It wasn't a good experience for most of the boys there, and not something I'd wish on Billy."

"Can I ask you something else?" I waited to see how he would respond. Ranger was not big on answering questions. When I got a barely perceptible nod, I asked, "Why did Tank choose to send me alone?"

As Ranger considered how to respond to the question, he thought about Tank. _The big man always looked out for me, but sometimes he was worse than my mother. Tank had been the first to spot Rachel at the bar and pushed me to meet her, and we know how that turned out. And now I'm pretty sure he sent Steph here alone hoping we'd get together. Although she's much better trained than a year ago, she isn't ready to take on a full-fledged fire-fight and she knows it. If Tank sent her only as my partner, as my back-up, he'd seriously overestimated her abilities. And he'd never do that._

I was still sitting on the picnic table. Ranger positioned himself between my knees, wrapped his arms around me and started nibbling on my ear. He spoke in low tones, "Tank has been my friend for almost twenty years. But mostly he's a Yenta; thinking he knows what's best for me." He trailed kisses down my jawline, then over to my lips. With his lips barely brushing mine, he said, "This time he was right. Your being here was just what I needed."

Of course that got my attention. Before I asked my question, I thought I'd take advantage of the situation. I traced Ranger's lips with my tongue, and his response was as enthusiastic as I'd hoped it would be. After a few minutes of tonsil tennis that was promising to get out of control, I asked, "Uh…why? Why am I what you needed?"

Ranger seated himself next to me on the table again. I immediately missed his warmth and snuggled in as close as I could while he was composing his answer.

"I always thought a serious relationship would be distracting. As you know, in my line of work, distractions can be fatal. I had to think about what was best, not just for my survival, but for the troops I led into dangerous situations. So I needed to keep distractions out of my life."

He shifted a bit and lifted me so that I was lying across his lap; my head snuggled into the crook of his neck. Ah – warm again.

"What I failed to recognize was that you and I were already in a relationship, and that denying it didn't change that fact. So shutting you out as I did proved to be more of a distraction than actually accepting the relationship. Tank and Lester tried to tell me that, but I didn't think they knew what they were talking about. Most of the tactical mistakes I've made in the last year were because my thoughts were on you instead of what I was doing."

With an internal head-slap he thought, _simply missing her would have been bad enough. I not only missed her, I tortured myself wondering what and how she was doing, and who she was with. I had deprived myself of the permission to even ask her. Or to even ask Yenta Tank, who usually offered the information without being asked._ Enough musing. Change the topic_._ "Now with you here, I'm still distracted, but in a different, and hopefully less dangerous way."

This was a much longer explanation than I had expected, and it left me speechless. So, since words failed me, I decided that Ranger needed a new lesson in distraction. I had shifted around so I now straddled his lap, then cupped his face in my hands and gave him the most dangerously distracting kiss I could. He suggested that I could keep him distracted for the rest of the night.


	9. Chapter 9 – Making Progress

_Thanks to everyone who has been reading and submitting reviews. The help me know what you are looking for in the story. I need to thank my beta, Jago Ji, a real stickler for typos and grammar! Any errors remaining in the chapters are mine alone, probably introduced after the fact._

**Chapter 9 – Making Progress**

We walked back to the house. William had left the porch lights on and the door unlocked for us. We went in, Ranger locked up, and we went up the stairs to our room. The house was bigger than it looked from the outside. There were several rooms on the second floor. He turned down a short hallway, to a room that was apparently set off by itself. When we went in I was astonished. There was a queen-sized mahogany sleigh bed and a sitting area with sofa, two chairs and a flat screen TV. A private bath was off to one side. Large windows overlooking the Everglades were to the back. Ranger laughed softly, "She gave us the honeymoon suite."

"It's lovely – surprisingly large. Why do you call it the honeymoon suite?"

"It was built for the first of Leotie's children who got married and came home for an extended visit. She makes sure that the newest couple always gets the suite. It was inspired by a gift that Rey gave her on one of his first visits. Something from his parents' wedding." He pointed to a poem framed on the wall next to the bed.

"What is this written on?"

"Calligraphy and watercolors on a tanned rabbit hide."

"It's beautiful. Poor rabbit."

_ Now you will feel no rain,_

_ For each of you will be shelter for the other._

_ Now you will feel no cold,_

_ For each of you will be warmth to the other._

_ Now there will be no loneliness,_

_ For each of you will be companion to the other._

_ Now you are two persons,_

_ But there are three lives before you:_

_ His life, her life and your life together._

_ Go now to your dwelling place to enter into your days together._

_ And may all your days be good and long upon the Earth._

_**Apache Wedding Prayer**_

There were other similar pieces of artwork – poems set in abstract watercolors. Some that seemed to celebrate the weddings of the different children. The watercolors added an even more romantic touch to the room. Maybe Leotie was just more subtle at sending hints than Mom; I thought I saw her eyes twinkling when Ranger said we were together.

The bed had a large, warm-looking patchwork quilt in shades of deep blue, and there were stacks of coordinated pillows at the top. The floor had a thick area rug in taupe, and the couch and chairs were patterned in shades of blue and taupe. Luxurious, but serene and comfortable.

The white noise of the Everglades at night was trying to lull us to sleep, as if we needed any extra help falling asleep.

And as had become our habit, Ranger woke me the next morning with coffee. It was still dark when we left for our run along the Old Trail road. While I jogged, I admired the spectacle of colors and awakening swamp life as the sun came up. I wished for a camera and extra time to stop and take photos; Lula would never believe any of this without pictures.

We got back to the house in time to have breakfast with William, Mikie and Yana before they left for the day. It seemed that of all the problems Billy had facing him, having missed so much school was bothering him most. And he couldn't go back until after he was released by the judge.

William walked over to Billy, wrapped him in a hug then said, "Son, you've always been at the top of your class. You can ask about catching up on what you've missed, so you won't be a semester behind your class when you go back."

"How can you be so confident that I won't have to do any time?" Billy sensed that just missing school should not be at the top of his worry list right now.

"Carlos is going to meet with a new lawyer today, who will represent you."

"But, Tio Carlos, we can't afford to pay for a lawyer."

"It's OK, Billy," Ranger said. "The law firm is on retainer to Rangeman. They handle all of our legal work. Don't worry about it."

Billy walked over to Ranger, and then hesitated as if trying to decide what to do. He then wrapped his arms around Ranger, and said "Thank you. How can I ever repay you?"

Slightly surprised, Ranger hugged him back and said, "We take care of family, Billy. Remember that. Someday when you have the opportunity, pay it forward. That will be the only repayment required."

Ranger drove into Miami to meet with Rangeman's law firm to meet with the lawyer who would represent Billy at Court. He talked to the lawyer first to lay out all of the extenuating circumstances, and push for a dismissal of the charges. The lawyer thought dismissal would be a long shot, but he could make a strong case for only probation, with court monitoring and supervision.

He stopped in at Rangeman as well to check-in and see if there were any emergencies he needed to attend to, otherwise we'd stay at Leotie's for a few more days. Rey had returned to Clearwater Beach since Montoya had not returned since the first night.

A couple of days later, we drove back to the house after lunch in Miami with the lawyer; William was with us. As we drove William looked at the endlessly flat scenery and asked me, "Did you know that the Everglades is called the River of Grass?"

"This is the only time I've been outside of Miami," I said, "so I don't know much about the Everglades."

"All that shallow water you keep seeing? It's really a 60-mile wide river – over 100 miles long. This very shallow, slow moving "river" is mostly covered with sawgrass, thus the "River of Grass."

"With a highway built right on top?" I'd expect a bridge over water, but this was just a normal 4-lane highway.

"The dredging of the Everglades to build the "Ocean to Gulf" highway was meant to open the whole area to clearing and development."

"And…" I chimed in, "… if it weren't for this highway, Ranger probably would never have been born." That earned a smile from Ranger.

"In the past, the true value of the Everglades wasn't known. Developers and politicians tried to drain it to tame it for development or agriculture, but those efforts failed. There is a plan in place to restore the 'Glades ecosystem back to health. Stretches of the Tamiami Trail are now being elevated to allow the water to flow, and the animals to pass underneath unharmed. The grasses help to clean and filter the water, which also filters through the limestone and other layers to fill the Florida aquifer, from which most of South and Central Florida draws its drinking water."

"My Tribe has lived in the 'Glades for over 100 years, and depend upon it for our livelihood and survival so we are concerned about maintaining its health. We are now active in lobbying for the restoration of the Everglades and related environmental issues."

Between Ranger and William, I was learning quite a lot about the history and geography of Florida.

As we entered the house, Ranger asked," Babe, would you be disappointed if we missed the holidays in Trenton?"

Now that I thought about it, I had missed Halloween – my favorite holiday – and I didn't even get any candy. I had totally forgotten that we were getting close to Thanksgiving, and all the expectations that usually accompany the holidays. My mother's house would be a mad house, with Valerie, Albert and the girls.

I slipped my arm through his and stepped closer. "I won't be disappointed, if I'm spending them with you," I gave him a flirty smile. "Why?"

"I want to stick around until Billy's hearing is over, so I thought we'd work out of Miami for a while. It would give you a chance to get to know the guys and maybe identify some improvements, like you did for Trenton. Tank says your suggestions have resulted in significant savings this year, and that the clients are starting to ask for you specifically when they have questions or problems."

"Well, who in their right mind would turn down spending the winter in Miami instead of New Jersey?"

That afternoon we spent some time with Billy, filling him in on his new lawyer, and what he could expect. Ranger asked him to explain why he went with Montoya in the first place, and what happened to him while he was with him. He said the lawyer and judge would both ask, so he needed to be prepared to explain.

Billy was a quiet, confident young man. He never hesitated; he just sat back, looking relaxed and thoughtful.

"When he first started talking to me, I had no idea who he was or why this older guy was hanging around the school. He introduced himself only as Alvar. He kept telling me that I looked familiar and he wanted to find out if we were related. He asked me questions about my parents, where they were from, when I was born, and what I knew about my grandparents. He wouldn't tell me why he thought I looked familiar or how he thought we might be related.

"I kept trying to not talk to him, but he just kept coming back. I finally told him what I knew of Mom's parents, but that I didn't know anything about my other grandparents. I knew that my Dad wasn't my real father, but didn't know who my father was or anything about his family. Then he started asking more about my mother. I managed to avoid him for a couple of weeks."

Billy had obviously given this some thought. We sat while he collected his thoughts then continued.

"When I insisted on knowing why he was spending so much time around the school, he said he sold school supplies, and had some boys who distributed the items for him. He was just waiting to meet with the boys, to find out if they had any new orders, and to pick up payment for the last order. I know it seems like I should have known, but drugs never crossed my mind. I never saw any of the 'boys' he was supposed to be meeting, so I couldn't ask them any questions."

He took a long drink from a can of soda, and then said, "I asked Mom and Dad about my real father. They said he had tricked my mom into going with him after school one day, and then assaulted her. Soon after that he had been put in jail in Cuba for dealing drugs. They said that he, like Mom, he was a Marielito. They had heard nothing of him since the processing in Key West over 16 years ago. They told me his name. The first names matched. Dad wanted to have him arrested for harassing me, but I stopped him. I don't really know why, but I needed to know more about this guy."

"When I told him my Mom was a Marielito, he smiled, and told me he'd see me later, then he just walked away. I didn't see him for a week or so. Then he snuck up behind me at lunch one day and said he was pretty sure he was my father."

I asked him, "How did he get on the campus to find you at lunch?"

"I ate lunch off-campus most days, at one of the food trucks. He told me that if I would go with him we could get the blood tests to be sure. So, I went with him. I really just wanted to know."

We chatted a bit about what his parents had taught him about talking to, or going with strangers. He said he was aware of all of that, but this guy was convinced that he was his father, and Billy said he just needed to know one way or the other. They had gone to a clinic to have the blood drawn, but Billy never heard the results.

He said Montoya just took him into his home. No amount of insisting or negotiating would convince him to let him contact his parents. He was, in fact, locked inside the house all day every day, and not allowed access to a telephone or to go outside at all. He finally figured out that the "school supplies" Montoya sold were illegal drugs. When you grow up with a Police Officer for a father, you learn the tragedies of drugs, and how they are particularly a scourge on the Native American youth living on reservations. Even though he had no Native blood, Billy was raised to be like all the other young men in the village, except he was also taught Spanish.

Billy had known several young people from the villages who either died from, or whose lives were destroyed by drugs. He felt foolish for not having realized immediately what Montoya was up to at the school, and felt angry at himself for getting into this situation. He was also ashamed to believe that he could actually be related to this monster.

When Montoya left for Tampa, Billy wanted to go with him, but was left behind with a pair of guards. He figured out that getting arrested might be his safest bet to get in touch with his parents. He convinced the idiots Montoya left as his "guards," that he really wanted to help them with their business. So the very first day they brought him with them, he managed to come to the attention of a patrol officer, who arrested him. The two guards had gotten away before the officer saw them.

Ranger thought that Billy was ready to talk to the lawyer; his story seemed clear and solid. He'd set up an appointment for later in the week.

That night, before we went to sleep, he told me that I'd be staying with him in the penthouse in Miami, pre-empting the questions he knew I'd want to ask. Apparently, there would be no issues in Miami even if I was known to be "Ranger's girlfriend." Now this was something altogether new for Ranger. Not only was he willing to acknowledge a relationship (with me!), but was willing to take whatever nonsense the staff in Miami might dish out. For serious professional bad-asses, all these guys could be quite adolescent at times.

I decided this boded well for our future back in Trenton – the Rangemen were infamous gossips and this was the sort of gossip that would be spread immediately throughout the offices. If we were living together in Miami, the Trenton office would not expect this to be different when we finally returned home. This meant I needed to call Connie and Lula before they heard anything through the grapevine.

* * *

I think Ranger is learning how to be part of a relationship. This song could apply to Steph's thoughts, she's learned a lot, too.

**I won't give up – Jason Mraz**

When I look into your eyes  
It's like watching the night sky  
Or a beautiful sunrise  
Well, there's so much they hold  
And just like them old stars  
I see that you've come so far  
To be right where you are  
How old is your soul?

Well, I won't give up on us  
Even if the skies get rough  
I'm giving you all my love  
I'm still looking up

And when you're needing your space  
To do some navigating  
I'll be here patiently waiting  
To see what you find

'Cause even the stars they burn  
Some even fall to the earth  
We've got a lot to learn  
God knows we're worth it  
No, I won't give up

I don't wanna be someone who walks away so easily  
I'm here to stay and make the difference that I can make  
Our differences they do a lot to teach us how to use  
The tools and gifts we got yeah, we got a lot at stake  
And in the end, you're still my friend, at least we did intend  
For us to work we didn't break, we didn't burn  
We had to learn how to bend without the world caving in  
I had to learn what I've got, and what I'm not  
And who I am

I won't give up on us  
Even if the skies get rough  
I'm giving you all my love  
I'm still looking up  
Still looking up.


	10. Chapter 10 – Billy's Payback

**Chapter 10 – Billy's Payback**

After dinner a couple of nights later, we were all talking around the dining table, when William was alerted that Montoya's car had just turned off the Trail. It was heading toward the houses. Just the one car with four occupants. A few minutes later another car was spotted with four more occupants.

Billy overheard, and jumped up from the table snarling, "That bastard thinks he can take me away again?" And then he left the room quickly, mumbling the whole way, angrier than William or Conchita had ever seen him.

We put on our utility belts and checked the weapons, put on our mics and tested them. Ranger and William finished planning what we would do, shared it with me and Rey, who had returned yesterday. I was glad that we had so much experienced back-up. William's lookouts tonight included two off-duty Miccosukee Police Officers and a neighbor who was a former Marine.

Unnoticed, Billy slipped out of the house while we were talking. By the time we heard the back door close, everyone was ready to go. No one had any idea what Billy had in mind going out alone.

Guns at the ready, William led us out of the clearing and back into the undergrowth – palmetto plants, vines and other scrub bushes that grew beneath the pines and cypress on this hammock. We were walking parallel with the road that lead into the clearing, back toward Old Tamiami Trail. About a quarter of a mile in we found two cars in a small clearing. Since they didn't belong to any of us, nor any of William's neighbors, the guys disabled them. I was left to watch the cars and alert them of anyone who attempted to escape that way.

William, Ranger and Rey headed back toward the clearing, still staying off the road. And all three were so quiet I heard not a single tell-tale sound from them. All professionals, all at home in this environment.

Thirty minutes later, with no activity in my area, William spoke to me over the comms we had all put on. "Steph, stay alert. We have four of them in our sights. My guys and I have them isolated near the piers. Three more were spotted moving toward the houses. Ranger and Rey are going to head them off. That leaves one unaccounted for. Be Careful."

A few minutes later I heard a shot that sounded far off, so it was not from any of our guys wearing mics. No one reacted, so I assumed none of our guys were hit. Then in my ear-piece I heard Ranger say in his command voice, "Face down, with your hands behind your head." Then another shot, this one from one of our guys; it reverberated through the mic. I heard the rustling and clicking as Rey and Ranger cuffed the guys they had. There was a lot of grunting and cursing as the guys were pulled to their feet. I heard Rey say, "I'll check on that other one." A short delay, then, "This one's not going to need an ambulance. William, send one of your guys over here."

I heard Ranger say he was going to check around the back of the house, so I decided to move out and join them. I tried to move as quietly in the underbrush as they had, but I didn't have quite the experience. At least I didn't sound like a herd of wild animals being flushed, like I probably would have a year ago.

However, someone had heard me. As I stepped carefully into the roadway, a hand grabbed my gun and a long arm wrapped around me squeezing my arms against my body. I started to scream, but didn't want to pull any of the guys away from their current stations. I tried to recall my self-defense training to figure out how to get out of this myself, without calling for help. What I did remember was that I had to control my breathing and my fear, which had started to roil in my stomach like bad oysters. I had a throat mic to communicate, but couldn't reach the switch with my arms pinned down. At least the bulk of the gear on my utility belt kept the guy well back from me, so his grip was less tight than it could have been. I was glad that I had taken the time to zip my windbreaker all the way up – hiding the throat strap from easy sight. The wire to the ear piece was hidden by my hair. My captor started walking us toward the clearing where the houses were.

I resisted at first; he hissed at me to behave.

"What do you want with me?"

"A bargaining chip – we trade you for the boy."

"Why do you want the boy?"

"Jefe wants his son. Man wants a son to carry on the family business."

I realized as we walked through the clearing, we were approaching the edge of the channel. I didn't see or hear anyone else. As we moved through the brush and tangled mangrove roots, closer to the water, I started acting like I was having trouble breathing. He loosened his grip even more. I didn't know what was in the water, but decided it was my best chance. As we got to an area next to the water that was relatively clear of the mangroves, I let my body go slack, and slipped partially through his arms. I wrapped my arms around the arm that had been holding me and tucked it tight into my diaphragm. Immediately, I braced my legs, bent over, jerked him over my back and flipped him into the water. It wasn't the "disabling" move that I had learned, but I didn't wasn't trying to seriously injure the guy, just get away from him, and slow him down. The water was shallow, but he made a splash and he lost my gun in the process. I hoped a gator would get him, but at a minimum he'd have a mouth full of swamp water and whatever was in it. The element of surprise, and all my training, worked to my satisfaction. As I released him, my momentum sent my elbows onto the ground. The crushed shells were sharp against my hands, elbows and arms, and sliced through my jeans to cut my knees. As he splashed around trying to get up, I got gingerly to my feet and wiped the blood from my hands and arms on my jeans, which were ruined now anyway.

I clicked the mic and quietly asked the guys where they were. William said Ranger was behind Leotie's house, and the rest of the guys were near the docks. One of his officers had secured the two cuffed men in a patrol car. The ME was coming for the guy someone had shot; seemed that no one was sure who fired the fatal shot. Although I had only heard what sounded like one shot, apparently there were at least three that hit the man. Following directions, I found Ranger standing near a wooden pier behind Leotie's house. I slipped up beside him and he pulled me to him. He noticed my breathing was a bit ragged and I was slightly sweaty. He simply hugged me and said, "Anything to do with that splash?"

"Yeah, I'll tell you about it later. Lost my gun, though."

"You OK?"

"Nothing serious or immediate."

Billy was sitting in the high pilot seat on a very large Airboat down the pier in front of us. He waved, then started it, the loud airplane engine making enough noise to rattle all of the windows in the Village. He signaled to us to join him. I had gotten a brief tour in one of the smaller airboats, but wasn't sure what his plan was. Ranger nodded, so we climbed into Billy's airboat. He called down for us to strap in. The smaller boat didn't have the 5-point harness straps; it occurred to me to wonder why this one did.

Billy backed out from the pier at full throttle, turned ninety-degrees which headed us down the channel. Away from the hammock, it is mostly shallow water with sawgrass. Some paths had been cleared of grass to mark the "channels", like trails in the water. He turned right down the next channel behind the other piers where the smaller airboats were docked. Now I understood the need for the harnesses – the G-forces as Billy maneuvered the fast moving boat around corners and over the water and grass made the harnesses necessary to keep us from flying off the seats. I grabbed Ranger's arm to hold on and he slid as close as he could and wrapped his arms around me. When I looked up he was laughing. He raised his arm and gave Billy a thumbs-up; I guess he knew what Billy was up to, but was going to let me find out on my own.

We flew past Montoya and two of his men as they climbed onto another airboat. Our prop wash sent a lot of debris and water out behind us spraying Montoya and his crew. Montoya didn't have the key for the boat, so they were trying to hotwire it.

Apparently William had an idea about what was going on, and led the rest of the team quietly across the clearing to the other side of the hammock. From here they could see Billy coming perpendicular to their channel, but they could also see headlights on the Tamiami Trail a half a mile north. Montoya got his airboat started, but he didn't take off after Billy yet.

We turned and saw the fourth man dripping down the dock muttering curses; he then climbed into Montoya's boat and took a seat, away from the others. Ranger looked down at me and raised an eyebrow. I simply nodded. "Proud of you, Babe," he whispered in my ear. Finally, Montoya backed out of the slip and started down the channel behind Billy, at less than full speed. He didn't know the canals like Billy, who had grown up on them and had been operating his boat for tourists for years already.

As Billy heard Montoya's boat coming up behind us, he turned south, still full throttle, fishtailing down a wide channel. I closed my eyes and clung to Ranger, but he seemed to be enjoying the ride. Montoya followed us down the channel at half speed. About a mile down, Billy cut a fast U-turn, and went speeding back north, this time staying out of the channel, gliding across the grass instead. As we passed William and the rest of the crew, we had to be doing at least 80, Billy's long hair flying behind him as he sat high above the fan cage. About 150 feet from the edge of the Tamiami Trail, Billy aimed at what looked like a ski jump mostly hidden in the tall grass. I buried my face in Ranger's chest as our boat cleared the jump, went fully airborne, and out over the highway. Ranger was enjoying this too much, but I was terrified; it felt like the scariest amusement park ride I had ever been on. I peeked out to see the highway fly below us – probably not more than 10 feet down, and over a SUV heading west. I bet they were shocked to see us, but they managed to stay on the highway. We hit the water with a jolt and a huge splash. Billy did a fast 90-degree turn, slinging us around in our seats, and he headed up the very wide channel on this side of the highway. While I was trying to calm down, I recalled the photo I had of a younger Ranger and William in the airboat with tourists.

"Did you ever do this when you were driving airboats?"

"Me, no; but William did, and I was usually on board with him. It was a treat to make up for the silly questions we had to answer for the tourists."

William was giving us a play-by-play of what was happening on the other side of the highway. Montoya had made the U-Turn, but not as quickly and he worked hard to stay in the channel and away from whatever could be hidden in the grass. He had watched as Billy's boat flew over the Trail. And at almost the last minute, Montoya spotted the ski jump in the now compressed grass and cut over to line up with it.

He didn't realize that he didn't have the speed needed to carry him over the Trail. Lined up with the jump, he hit it, went airborne, and in less than 10 seconds we heard the shattering sounds of the airboat crashing down on the highway, then the explosion of the fuel tank.

William assured the other guys that we had landed safely in the swamp on the other side of the Trail. This was a special "show trick" performed for tourists, but not while they were still in the boat. He had figured, when Billy grabbed the "trick" boat, that this was his intention.

Billy returned to the pier via an underpass, docked and secured the boat, gave us a big grin and headed into the house. The muscle-bound, weapon-swathed warriors had come to save him, but he had saved himself, and duped the worst of the bad guys into eliminating themselves.

We released our harnesses and since my legs were still rather shaky, Ranger steadied me as we walked over to join the rest of the crew. Rey reached over, tugged on my hair and grinned, "I was hoping the Bombshell would treat us to at least one explosion."

"It wasn't my fault," I said.

William went out to check on the wreck – no survivors. He called it in and waited for the emergency vehicles to arrive. The deaths were ruled accidental; misadventure on the part of the airboat operator.

* * *

Just to clear up some possible questions, Webster's Ninth New Collegiate Dictionary, the word hammock is derived from hummock, but the exact origin is unknown. It is defined as "a fertile area in the southern U.S. and esp. Florida that is usually higher than its surroundings and that is characterized by hardwood vegetation and deep humus-rich soil." I've come across Florida authors who use the term more broadly to mean a raised area, with clearings, which are habitable. I used the more broad definition which may or may not be technically correct, and added the more common Florida ground cover of sand and crushed shells.

For an idea of an airboat tour, Google Everglades Air Boat Tours and watch some videos.


End file.
